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Copyright, 1885, 
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April 9, 1886 


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KING AT 


OXFORD 



^ STale of tlje ©wat Rebellion 

BY 

V 

The Rev. ALFRED J.5 CHURCH, M.A. 

AUTHOR OF “STORIES FROM VIRGIL • 


Books von may hold readily in your hand are the most us eful^ after all 

APR 7 1886 ' j 

NEW YORK 

HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS 


1886 


HARPER’S HANDY SERIES. 


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Latest Issues. 


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83. Primus in Indis. A Romance. By M. J. Colquhoun 25 

34. Musicaf. History. By G. A. Macfarren 25 

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^ , ■; ■ ■' ■ • : 

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TO 

GEORGE WILLIAM FLEETWOOD BURY 

PHYSICIAN AND FRIEND 

®l]i6 Sook is JOebicateir 









. 5 ^ 

,>;S 


I cannot allow this book to appear without the expression of 
my thanks to the Rev. Andrew Clark, Fellow of Lincoln Col- 
lege, Oxford, who very kindly put at my service a number of 
interesting records of the domestic history of the College. 


Hadley Green, October, 1885. 


A.C. 


WITH THE KING AT OXFORD. 


CHAPTER 1. 

OF MY. BIRTH AND BRINGING-UP. 

My father was the son of a gentleman of Oxford- 
shire that had a small estate near to the town of 
Eynsham, in that county. The monks of Eynsham 
Priory had the land aforetime ; and ’twas said that 
here, as elsewhere, there was a curse upon such as 
held for their own uses that which had been dedi- 
cated to God’s service. How this may be I know 
not, though there are notable instances — as, to wit, 
the Russells — in which no visible curse has fallen on 
the holders of such goods ; but it is certain that my 
father’s forbears wasted their estate grievously. Be- 
ing but the third son, he had scarce, in any case, tar- 
ried at home ; but, matters being as they were, the 
emptiness of the family purse drove him out betimes 
into the world. Being of good birth and breeding, 
he got, without much ado, a place about the Court, 
which was not, however, much to his liking. I have 
heard him say — and this, though, as will be seen here- 
after, he was a great lover of monarchy — that, be- 
tween a weak king and villanous courtiers, White- 
hall was no place for an honest gentleman. Bobert 


4 


WITH THE KING AT OXFORD. 


Carr, that was afterwards Earl of Somerset, he liked 
little, and George Yilliers, Duke of Buckingham, he 
liked yet less, being, as he was wont to say, by so 
much a greater villain than Somerset as a duke is 
greater than an earl. He was right glad, therefore, 
to leave the sunshine of the Royal presence for 
so did men speak of the Court in the hyperbolical 
language of those times, even for so dismal and out- 
landish a part as Ireland. But I know not whether 
he did not wish himself back, for of Ireland he would 
never afterwards speak with any measure of patience, 
declaring that he knew not which were the worse, 
the greediness and cruelty of the English conquerors, 
or the savagery and unreason of the native people. 
Here he tarried for some three or four years, having, 
indeed, had bestowed upon him an estate, which, for 
its boundaries at least, was of considerable magni- 
tude, but from which he received nothing but trou- 
ble. Who hath it now I know not; and indeed he 
charged me to have nought to do with it, saying — for 
I remember his very words — If they will give thee 
the whole island in fee, say them nay, for it is fit for 
nothing but to be drowned under the sea.” Yet his 
next venture was not one whit happier, as will be 
readily concluded, when I say that he took service 
with Sir Walter Raleigh, whom he chanced to fall in 
with at Cork, at which place Sir Walter touched on 
his way to the Indies in search of gold. Gold got 
they none, but of hard blows not a few, and of pains 
and sickness still more. My father was with the 
boats that sailed up the river Orinoco, and caught in 
his arms, I have heard him say, Walter Raleigh the 
younger, when this last was slain by a bullet from a 


OF MY BIRTH AND BRlNGING-tJP. 


5 


Spanish arqnebiise. From this voyage he came back 
beggared in purse and not a little broken in health ; 
to the end of his days indeed he suffered much at 
times from the fever that he contracted in those parts. 
The year following that wherein Raleigh was be- 
headed, came wh^-t seemed at the first sight good 
news, namely, that the Bohemians had bestowed the 
crown of their country upon the Elector of Bavaria, 
husband to the Princess Elizabeth, the king’s daugh- 
ter. Thereupon there arose such a tumult of joy 
throughout the country as the oldest man living scarce 
remembered to have heard before. There was noth- 
ing too good to be hoped for as about to come from 
this promotion. Indeed, I have heard my father say 
that he was himself present when the Archbishop of 
Canterbury (Dr. Abbott) preached a sermon wherein 
he declared that this event was foretold in Scripture, 
naming even the chapter and'verse, which were, if I 
remember right, in the Book of the Revelation. My 
father was carried away with the rest, and having, as 
may well be thought, a special gift for choosing for 
his own that which should be the losing side, forth- 
with took service with the Elector, to whom King 
James, though scarce approving of the cause, sent at 
this time auxiliaries to the number of four thousand. 
In this army my father had a captain’s commission, 
with pay to the amount of four shillings by the day 
— handsome wages, only that he never received of 
them so much as a doit. Nor did the campaign rec- 
ompense the defect of gains by any excess of glory. 
It was, indeed, as barren of laurels as of gold ; and 
my father, who, being favorably known of old time 
by the Princess, was appointed to command the guard 


6 


WITH THE KING AT OXFORD. 


of the Elector, arrived in his Highness’s company at 
the Hague without a penny in his pocket, and scarce 
a coat to his back. 

But now behold a turn, of Fortune’s wheel. While 
he lingered in Holland, not from choice, indeed, but 
from compulsion, seeing that he did not possess the 
wherewithal to pay his passage to England, came 
news of an inheritance that had fallen to him, being 
nothing less — or, may be, I should rather say, consid- 
ering its poverty, nothing more — than the family es- 
tate. This fell to my father by the death of his two 
elder brothers, who both expired of a fever on the 
same day. And this day, so strangely do things fall 
together in this world, was the very same as that on 
which all his worldly hopes seemed to have been 
overset, that is, the 8th of November, in the year 
1620, when the Elector Palatine was utterly defeated 
by the Duke of Bohemia. My father then, coming, 
as I have said, to Holland this same winter with the 
Elector, there heard of his inheritance, not, indeed, 
without some natural regret for the cause that had 
brought it to him, yet, because his brothers were older 
by far, and akin by half-blood only, and strangers by 
long interruption of acquaintance, not sorrowful over- 
much. 

The said inheritance was, as may be gathered from 
what has been written above, a mighty poor thing, 
being, after all debts and encumbrances were paid, 
but of sixty pounds value by the year at the most. 
Nevertheless, for a poor, battered soldier that had no 
way to earn his bread, ’twas by no means to be de- 
spised. Veterans that have passed through, the wars 
— if my father, that was but just thirty years of age. 


OF MY BIRTH AND BRINGING-UP. 


7 


may be so called — do commonly love the quietude of 
a country retreat (and it was thus that Augustus 
Caesar and others did reward their legions) ; and my 
father affected this manner of life as readily as did 
ever old soldier in the world, and, being a man of 
useful parts, he turned his sword into a ploughsliare 
with good result, and this not only of profit of mon- 
ey, but of health also. Being thus set up, both in 
body and estate, he took courage to ask in marriage 
a maiden of those parts, Cicely Harland by name. 
She was the daughter of a gentleman that had a like 
estate with my father, only it was without encum- 
brance, so that Mistress Cicely was not ill-provided 
with a portion. My father, whose name— for this 1 
have not yet mentioned — was Philip Dash wood, 
married Mistress Cicely Harland in the mouth of 
September, 1623. Of this marriage were born two 
children ; first, my sister Dorothy, in August, 1624, 
and secondly myself, a Philip also, who came into 
this troublesome world on Christmas-day, 1625, hav- 
ing as my birthright, as the gossips say, the gift of 
seeing spirits, though this I have liever yet, to my 
knowledge, enjoyed. My first teaching, save tlie very 
rudiments which my dear mother did impart to me, 
was from Master William Hearnden, parson of the 
parish, to which, indeed, he had been presented by 
my father in the vacancy before described. They 
had been close friends in that luckless campaigning 
in Bohemia, where Master Hearnden was chaplain to 
the English regiment — ay, and on occasion also, I 
have heard say, captain also ; for he was, as the coun- 
try folk say, “ a man of his hands.” Not the less was 
he a virtuous and godly clerk, and a sound scholar 


8 


WITH THE KING AT OXFORD. 


also, and with a rare gift which scholars, be they ever 
so sound, have not always — of teaching that wliich he 
knew. 

On January the 6th, 1633, being then twelve days 
past my eighth birthday, I was entered of the Mer- 
chant Taylors’ School, at Laurence Pountney, in the 
city of London, by the presentation of William Har- 
ford, kinsman to my mother, that was one of the 
Court of the said Company. Mr. Edwards was then 
master of the school, and remained so during the time 
of my continuance there. 

At the first I lodged in the house of Master Will- 
iam Kush worth, that was a merchant of timber, and 
dwelt in the Strand, of whom and of whose house 
more hereafter. 

Within a few weeks of my coming I saw what my 
elders told me was the finest spectacle that had been 
seen in London within the memory of man, that is, a 
mighty grand masquerade, with which the gentlemen 
of the four Inns of Court entertained their Majesties 
King Charles, and Henrietta of France, his Queen. 
I was yet too much of a child to have any clear un- 
derstanding of what I saw, though the number of 
men and horses, the splendor of scarlet and purple, 
of gold and silver, and all the magnificence of the 
show, made a notable mark on my mind. But I 
lieard much talk about it in after-times; and indeed, 
till the late troubles came upon the country, there 
was nothing of which there was more frequent men- 
tion than of this same masquerade. Thus it came to 
pass that, filling up what I observed at the time with 
that which I heard afterwards, I came to have such a 
notion of the matter as might have been conceived 


OF MY BIRTH AND BRINGING-UP. 


9 


by one much older than I then was. If, therefore, I 
may join together what was afterwards told me with 
what I remember of myself, this masquerade was 
shown on Candlemas-day, which is the second day of 
February, the procession starting from Chancery Lane 
when it was now dusk. First came twenty footmen 
in scarlet liveries, with silver lace, each carrying a 
torch. These were the marshal’s men that cleared 
the way, and with them came the marshal himself, 
an extraordinary proper handsome gentleman, riding 
one of the King’s horses, with two lackeys, each car- 
rying a torch, and a page that bare his cloak. Af- 
ter these came a hundred gentlemen, five-and- twenty 
from each Inn of Court, riding on horses, the finest 
that could be found in London, and apparelled as 
bravely as men could be. After these again came 
what was styled the antimasque, cripples and beg- 
gars on horseback, mounted on the poorest, leanest 
jades that could be gotten out of the dirt-carts and 
elsewhere. These had their proper music of keys 
and tongs, making the queerest noise that can be im- 
agined, but yet with a sort of concert. Then fol- 
lowed another antimasque, this time of birds. The 
first portion was men on horseback, playing on pipes 
and whistles, and other instruments by which the 
notes of birds may be imitated ; the second was the 
birds themselves, among which I specially noted an 
owl in an ivy bush. What these creatures were I 
knew not at the time, but learned afterwards that they 
were little boys put into covers of the sliapes of the 
birds. After these came that which pleased the peo- 
ple mightily, and at which I laughed heartily myself, 
though not knowing why: this was a satire on the 


10 


WITH THE KING AT OXFORD. 


projectors and monopolizers from whom the realm 
had long suffered. First there was a man riding on 
a very mean steed that had a great bit in his mouth ; 
and on the man’s head was a bit, with reins and 
headstall fastened to it, and a petition written for a 
patent that no one in the kingdom should ride their 
liorses save with such bits as they might buy of him. 
Second to him was another with a bunch of carrots 
on Ins head and a capon in his fist, and he had a pe- 
tition also for a patent that none should fatten ca- 
pons save with carrots and by his license. Behind 
these came other horsemen, and last of all four char- 
iots, one for each Inn of Court, these being tlie most 
splendid of all. The King and Queen were so 
mightily pleased with this pageant that they desired 
to see it again. Thereupon the Lord-mayor invited 
their Majesties to a banquet in the Merchant Tay 
lors’ Hall, and the same masque was there again per- 
formed, the procession having gone eastward this time. 
And we scholars of the school were privileged to see 
it from a gallery that was set apart for us. 


CHAPTER II. 

OF MY SOJOURN IN LONDON. 

My sojourn with Master Kushworth was but for a 
time. Accordingly, some three days, or thereabouts, 
after that I had been a spectator of the lawyers’ 
great masque, I changed my abode to the house of 
one Mr. Timothj^ Drake, a woollen-draper, that dwelt 
upon London Bridge, on the north side. Master 


OP MY SOJOURN TN LONDON. 


11 


Drake was bound to my kinsman Master Harford, of 
\vliom I have before spoken, by many obligations of 
benefits received; and when the said uncle, being 
single and well advan^jed in years, was unwilling to 
be troubled with the charge of a child. Master Drake 
gladly received me ; not, I suppose, without good con- 
sideration given. It was judged to be more conven- 
ient for me to lodge upon the bridge, which is but 
little more than a stone’s-throw from the Merchant 
Taylors’ School, than in the Strand ; nor was I un- 
willing to go, but my sojourn there was but for a very 
short time, as I shall presently show. 

’Twas a marvellous place this same London Bridge, 
more like, indeed, to a village than a bridge, having 
on either side houses, some of them being shops, as 
was that in which I dwelt, and some taverns, and 
some private dwellings. And about the middle of 
the bridge stood a great building, which they called 
Nonesuch House, very splendidly painted with colors, 
and having wooden galleries hanging over the river, 
richly ornamented with carving and gilding. This 
Nonesuch House covered the whole breadth of the 
bridge from the one side to the other; and in the 
middle of it was an arch with the road passing under it. 

The bridge had, or, I should rather say, has (for it 
still stands, and will, I doubt not, stand for many ages 
to come) twenty arches, of which one is blocked. 
They are but small, the purpose of the builder, Peter 
of Colechurch, having been, it is said, thus to restrain 
the ebbing of the tide, and so to make the river above 
the bridge more easily navigable. I should rather 
think, if I may say so much without wrong to the 
pious man, that in that rude age (now near upon five 


12 


WITH THE KING AT OXFORD. 


centuries since) he knew not how to build bigger. 
And being thus small they are still farther dimin- 
ished by the sterlings that are built about the piers, 
to keep them from damage by ice or floods. Thus it 
came to pass that of nine hundred feet (for such is 
the length of the bridge from end to end) scarce two 
hundred remain for the water-way. The consequence 
thereof is that when the water is lower than the ster- 
lings it rushes through the arches with a singular 
great violence. How great it is may be judged from 
this, that in some of the arches there is a water- fall, 
so to speak, of as much as two feet, when the tide is 
at its strongest; and this strongest is when it is about 
half spent, running upward ; but why the flow should 
be stronger than the ebb I know not, seeing that this 
latter is increased by the natural current of the river. 
I do remember, if I may delay those that shall read 
this chronicle with such childish recollections, how I 
marvelled at the first at this same ebb and flow, of 
which I had never before heard. On the first day of 
my coming to Master Drake’s house, being, as I re- 
member, the seventh day of February, I looked out 
from my chamber window about half-past five of the 
clock, and saw the Thames full to his banks and flow- 
ing eastward, as by rights he should, it being then 
but just past the flood. But the next time that 1 
chanced to cast my eyes on him, the tide having but 
newly begun to flow, lo ! he was dwindled to half his 
span, and ran westward. Of a truth I thought that 
there was witchcraft, and, being a simple child, ran 
down into my host’s parlor, crying, “ What ails the 
river that it is half spent and runs the wrong way ?” 
and was much laughed at for my pains. 


OF MY SOJOURN IN LONDON. 


13 


I thought to have much pleasure from sojourn in 
the house upon the bridge, and doubtless should have 
had but for the sad mishap of which I shall shortly 
speak. For indeed there was much to be seen daily 
upon the river. On the eastern side, looking, that is 
to say, towards the sea, there were goodly ships from 
all parts of tlie world, lading and unlading their car- 
goes, for through the bridge none could go ; nay, the 
very wherries, for the violence of the water, would 
not venture the passage save at the highest or lowest 
of the tide ; but passengers were discharged on the 
one side and took boat again on the other. And on 
the western side there were the barges of my Lord- 
mayor and of the richer of the Companies ; and 
barges of trade, carrying all manner of goods, and 
especially timber, both for building and burning; and 
small boats almost without number, both of private 
persons and of watermen that plied for hire. And 
on occasions there were races among the watermen 
and also among the ’prentices of the City. And there 
were other sports, notably that of tilting upon the 
water, in which the vanquisher would dismount the 
vanquished, not indeed from his horse but from his 
boat, and sometimes drive him into the water with 
no small laughter from the spectators. The bridge 
also afforded another pastime, for when the tide was 
so far ebbed that it was possible to stand upon the 
sterlings (which were at other times covered with wa- 
ter) there were many fishes to be caught, for these 
commonly resort where there is abundance of food 
to be found, as must needs be in so great a city as 
London. And if any cannot conceive of the anglers’ 
craft as practised in the midst of such din and tu- 


14 


WITH THE KIXG AT OXFORD. 


mult, they may take as a proof that the makers of 
anglers’ tackle congregate in Crooked Lane, which is 
hard by the bridge, more than in any other place in 
London. 

Being also a lad, for all my tender years, of an ac- 
tive fancy and apt to muse by myself, and to build 
castles in the air, or, as some say, in Spain, for my de- 
light, I did not forget the story of Edward Osborne, 
that was ’prentice to Sir William Hewet, cloth- work- 
er, some time Lord-mayor of London, how he leaped 
from the window of one of the bridge houses, and 
saved his master’s daughter that had been dropped 
into the river by a careless maid. All the dwellers 
on the bridge have the story ready, so to speak, on 
the tip of their tongues, as if it were a credit to them- 
selves; nor would I discourage the thought, for hap- 
ly it might give a lad boldness to venture his life in 
the like gallant way. Hence, before I had been in 
the house an hour they showed me the window from 
which the said Edward leaped. All the world knows, 
I suppose, how he afterwards married this same 
daughter, and received with her a great estate, and 
how he rose to great prosperity, being Lord-mayor in 
the year 1583, and how his posterity are to this day 
persons of great worship and renown, who will yet, if 
I mistake not, rise higher in the State. ’Tis true I 
was no ’prentice, nor had Master Drake a daughter, 
sa\'e one that must have been forty years of age at 
the very least; but what are these hinderances to 
tlie fancy when it is minded to disport in its own 
realms ? 

But now for the mishap which scattered these fan- 
cies and the hopes of other delights, of which I have 


OF MY SOJOURN IN LONDON. 


15 


before spoken. I came, as I have said, to sojourn 
with Master Drake on the seventh day of February, 
being, as I remember, a Thursday ; and on the Mon- 
day following my sojourn was ended. Near to Mas- 
ter Drake’s house dwelt Mr. John Briggs, a needle- 
maker by trade, who was wont to keep up a brisk fire 
for the carrying on of his craft. This being main- 
tained at a greater height and for a longer time 
together than was customary, trade being beyond or- 
dinary brisk, heated the wood- work adjoining, than 
which there is, as I conceive, no more common cause 
of such mischief. This at least was conjectured at 
the time, for nothing could be known of a certaint3^ 
What is established is, that about ten of the clock at 
night on Monday aforesaid, the fire began in Mr. 
Briggs’s house, and that so suddenly and with such 
violence that he and his wife and child, a maid of 
about four years (who, as being of a more convenient 
age and size than Mistress Tabitha Drake, I had re- 
solved should fall into the river and be saved by me), 
escaped with their lives very hardly, having nothing 
on but their shirts, and it may be said, the smoke, so 
near did they come to being burned. Nor were we 
in much better case, save that Master Drake and his 
wife and daughter, having entertained the parson of 
the parish to supper (’twas in the parish of St. Mag- 
nus the Martyr), had not yet gone to bed. Thus they 
were able not only to save themselves and me, who 
was in bed and sound asleep, more easily, but also to 
carry off some of their chief possessions. As for put- 
ting out of the fire, little or nothing could be done. A 
man might have thought that, the houses being on 
a bridge, there would be suflScient water at hand to 


16 


WITH THE KING AT OXFORD. 


prevent a fire, how great soever. But it was not so. 
By ill-luck it happened that the river was at its verj^ 
lowest, so that the engines, of which there were three, 
newly made, and much admired for their excellence, 
could get no water from it, and indeed were broken 
in the endeavor. And when the conduits were 
opened, and the pipes that carried water through the 
streets cut, these also yielded but little water, so that 
the fire raged almost without let or hinderance. Yet 
such water as there was, was used to the uttermost, 
men carrying the buckets up ladders, which were set 
against the burning houses, and pouring them upon 
the fiames. From this, indeed, came other damages, 
for the ladders were burned through, to the hurt of 
many, by the breaking of their arms and legs, and 
even to the loss of their lives. All that night and 
the next day until noon the fire continued to burn 
fiercely ; nor did it stop till it came to the first empty 
space upon the bridge; there it was stayed for want 
of matter, the brewers’ men that were on the other 
side of the river also helping by bringing abundance 
of water on their drays, and wetting the houses that 
were yet unconsumed. There were forty-three houses 
burned in all, being about the third part of those 
that stood upon the bridge. The road was so blocked 
by the ruins that, though as many as had space to 
stand labored to carry away the timber and bricks, 
and tiles and rubbish, none could pass over the bridge 
before Wednesday, and there were remains of the 
fire yet smouldering on the Tuesda}^ following, as I 
learned to my cost, having on that day burned my 
finger with a live coal of fire which I took up in my 
hand. 


OF MY SOJOURN IN LONDON. 


17 


By God’s mercy the night was warm, or else the 
inhabitants that were ousted so suddenly from their 
homes had suffered much. It was still, also, a matter 
for which we are yet more bound to be thankful ; 
for had the wind, which was, indeed, from the south, 
and so blew towards the City, been strong, London 
itself would have been much endangered, the more 
so as the traders in Thames Street have much pitch, 
tar, rosin, oil, and other inflammable goods in their 
houses. Indeed, were I minded to prophesy, I should 
say that some day there will arise in this very part 
of London, for nowhere is the peril greater, such a 
conflagration as has never been seen in the world; 
save only, it may be, when Home was set on Are by 
that mad Csesar, Nero. 

As for myself, I found shelter for the time with 
my kinsman. Master Harford, in his flne mansion, 
hard by the Church of Saint Peter on Cornhill. 
Whether he would have kept me now that his 
scheme of lodging me with Master Drake had fallen 
through, I cannot say ; but if he ever entertained 
any such purpose, it was shortly dismissed by reason 
of my behavior. ’Twas, as I have said, a flne man- 
sion, Master Harford being one of the wealthiest 
merchants in London, and the table kept proportion- 
ate thereto. There was no mistress of the house, Mas- 
ter Harford being, as I have said, a bachelor, but a 
house-keeper, Joan Fuller by name, a kind woman, 
and knowing in all the knowledge of the store-room 
and kitchen, but otherwise of scant sense. She, hav- 
ing none on whom to bestow her affections, save a 
cat and a dog, took a mighty favor to me, which 
favor she showed in the fashion that she herself 
3 


18 • WITH THE KING AT OXFORD. 

would have most approved, if 1 may say so much 
without unkindness to the memory of one that is 
now deceased ; for she plied me, both in season and 
out of season, with all manner of dainty meats, so 
that in the space of eight days or thereabouts I fell 
sick. ’Twas no great matter, only a sickness as would 
come to any child that had been so dealt with, and 
was easily set right by the apothecary’s medicines, 
which, to my mind, so nauseous were they, did more 
than outweigh all the pleasure of my dainty feeding; 
but it settled Master Harford in his intention to 
lodge me elsewhere than in his own house. Master 
Drake could not entertain me any more, having to be 
content with scant lodging for himself and his wife 
and daughter. Nor was there any talk of building 
up the houses again ; and this, indeed, was not done 
for more than thirteen years after the burning ; but 
the sides of the bridge where they had been were 
covered in with boarding. So it came about that I 
was sent back to my first lodging with Master Rush- 
worth, in the Strand. 

He was, as I have said, a merchant of timber, and 
had his house in the Strand, on the north side, with 
a yard on the other side of the street, in which he 
stored his goods and did his buying and selling. In 
tliis I was free to play as much as suited my liking, 
and here also I found great delights, of which the chief, 
1 think, was the discovery that the captain of one of 
the barges which brought him timber was a certain 
William Beasley, of Oxford, who had served my fa- 
ther as bailiff and fisherman, and in other employ- 
ments, as many as a single pair of his hands could 
discharge. With him I had much talk, and always 


OF THE PLAGUE AND OTHER MATTERS. 


19 


counted this talk very precious, it being chiefly of 
home matters, so that only the actual going thither 
could by any means be more to be desired. 


CHAPTER m. 

OF THE PLAGUE AND OTHER MATTERS. 

I WAS well content both with my lodging at Mas- 
ter Eushworth’s, though I thought, doubtless for want 
of grace, he was too puritanically inclined, and with 
the school. Our good parson had grounded me so 
well in the rudiments of Latin that I took at the first 
a place beyond my years ; and I used such diligence 
and ability, if I may say so much of myself, that 1 lost 
not this advantage afterwards. Twice in the year 
there was held an examination of the scholars, or, as 
they call it, probation; and they that acquit them- 
selves well therein are nominated to a higher place. 
This promotion I never failed to gain, save the first 
time only, when I had been but three months in the 
school, and this in a form which had none other so 
young as I. I do believe, indeed, that even then I 
had earned promotion ; but the usher kept me back 
of set purpose, thinking this to be the best for me ; 
for which kindness, though it angered me at the 
time, I have since been most grateful. In the end it 
served me well, for, not to be tedious by dwelling 
over-long on such matters, I had obtained at the first 
probation of 1636, of which year I shall shortly have 
more to say, a most excellent place in the school, 
being promoted into the fourth form, in which there 


20 


WITH THE KING AT OXFOKD. 


was not, I remember, one scholar bat had, at the least, 
six months more of age than myself. 

But now there came a most grievous interruption, 
not to me only, which had been but a small matter, 
but to the prosperity of the whole nation. In the 
third year of my schooling (that is to say 1635) the 
plague broke out with no small violence in the City. 
And though it abated somewhat in the winter, as it 
commonly does, the cold seeming to discourage it, so 
that ’twas hoped it would depart altogether, yet in 
the year following, so soon as the spring-time began, 
it grew to such a height as had never before been 
known, so far as the memory of living man could 
reach. But there had been worse before, the Black 
Death, to wit, which left, ’twas said, scarce a tenth 
part of the people alive, and the sweating sickness 
in the days of King Henry VIII. From this visita- 
tion the school suffered greatly. I do not say that 
many scholars actually perished of the sickness, for 
of these there were not, I take it, more than three or 
four at the most. But our numbers were sadly min- 
ished ; for none came from the country, parents fear- 
ing to send their children into the midst of so deadly 
an infection, and of the London scholars also many 
were kept at home, lest, mixing with their fellows, 
they should either take the disease or convey it upon 
their clothes. It was a dismal sight to see the class- 
es grow smaller, I may say, day after day. And 
when any boy was seen to be absent, there were ru- 
mors that he was dead of the plague; and though 
these, as I have said, were, for the most part, not true, 
yet we that remained were not the less troubled. At 
the last, when our numbers had dwindled down to a 


OF THE PLAGUE AND OTHER MATTERS. 


21 


third or thereabouts of the full, came down an order 
from the Court that the school be shut. And this 
was done on the seventeenth of May, 1636. 

I remember that we heard this news with a 
great shout of joy; for boys would rejoice in holiday 
though it should be brought about by the ending of 
the world; and now there was prospect of such a 
holiday as had never been known ; and indeed the 
scholars were not again assembled together for the 
space of a year and five months, though Mr. Edwards, 
the chief master, taught some boys during that whole 
time, lest the school altogether ceasing to be, its prop- 
erty should be diverted elsewhere. But I was too 
young to be one of these. 

As for myself, there was no small questioning what 
had better be done with me. My father, indeed, as 
soon as there was talk of the school being shut up, 
had sent word that I should come home to him. But 
this was not easy to be done. For there was great 
fear throughout the country lest travellers from Lon- 
don should bring the infection of the disease with 
them, so that the roads were diligently watched, and 
all that were suspected of hailing thence were forth- 
with sent back, sometimes not without much mal- 
treatment. This being so, the river was the only 
highway that was left open. On this travellers were 
not hindered, provided only that they did not go forth 
from their boat into the villages round about. And 
by this highway I did in the end return home. 

On the eleventh of June, for I remember that it 
was election-day at the school, though the customary 
festivities were intermitted by reason of the plague, 
comes Richard Beasley with his barge, having with 


22 


WITH THE KING AT OXFORD. 


him a load of timber, and what I counted of more 
worth by far, the commandment from my father that 
I should return with him. And this 1 did about a 
sennight after, when he had finished the unloading 
of his cargo. We were six days on our journey, and 
I think that I never had so delightful a time. First 
it was no small joy to be quit for a time of London, 
which was indeed in those days a most dreadful place. 
None were seen in the streets save such as had ur- 
gent business ; and these walked at such speed as if 
death were after them (as indeed in a sense it was)*, 
liolding a handkerchief or pomander with some scent, 
recommended by the faculty, to their noses, as a safe- 
guard against infection. As for the gallants in their 
brave attire, and the fair matrons and damsels that 
bad been wont to throng the public ways, they were 
invisible, and the church bells never gave forth a 
merry peal, but were tolling continually, till indeed 
this was forbidden as augmenting the terror of the 
citizens. And there passed continually along the 
streets the funerals of the wealthier sort of people 
and their families. But as for the poorer, the dead- 
cart carried them to their burying-places, and this I, 
lying awake at night, have often heard rumbling aw- 
fully along, and also the cry of the men asking, when- 
ever they saw a house shut up, whether there was 
anything for them. And I must confess, though it 
be to my discredit, that Master Kushwortli and his 
wife wearied me with over-long exercises of prayer 
such as they thought fitted for the occasion, not re- 
membering my tender years. It may easily be con- 
cluded, therefore, that I was sufficiently glad to de- 
part from London. And for the journey itself, it 


OF THE PLAGUE AND OTHER MATTERS. 


23 


waS; as I have said, delightful beyond all compare. 
We set out on the nineteenth of June, being, as I re- 
member, a Saturday ; for Robert, though he had all 
things ready, would not begin his journey on a Fri- 
day — a scrupulousness at which I was not a little 
offended, being above all things desirous to depart. 
That night we lay at Richmond, and the day follow- 
ing also, being a Sunday, on which day William Beas- 
ley was steadfast not to travel. He would say that, 
if a man cared not for his own soul, knowing it not 
to be worth a groat, he should have regard to his 
beast, which must be priced at twenty shillings at the 
least. 

We travelled without any mischance save that at 
Bray, where the ris-er is more than ordinary shallow 
— William Beasley’s son having had the rudder in 
charge, ran the barge on a shoal, and would have 
had a great whipping from his father but that I 
took the blame on myself; which was indeed but 
fair, for I was distracting the lad with my talk when 
he needed all his wits for his work. At some of the 
ferries we had to serve ourselves; for the ferrymen 
would not venture themselves near to those that 
might be bringing, as they thought, the infection of 
the disease from London. And when we would buy 
anything from the town and villages, as eggs and 
milk, or the like, we left the money at an appointed 
place (the custom having grown up in former visi- 
tations), dropping it into a bowl of water ; and the 
country folk afterwards brought their goods. And 
then, with a God save you !” given and returned, 
we went on our way. ’Twas a doleful thing to be so 
shunned, as if we had been lepers ; yet I could not 


24 WITH THE KING AT OXFORD. 

blame the people, knowing that the plague had been 
carried down from London to the utter destruction 
of many villages. For a village, if it once take the 
infection, will often, for lack of ministration to the 
sick, suffer worse than the town. But once only did 
the riverside people show us any hostility; and this 
was at Wallingford, where they stoned us from the 
bridge, but without doing any considerable hurt. 

But notwithstanding these incomrnodities, ’twas a 
most delightsome time, such as I have ever remem- 
bered with pleasure, and shall remember so long as 
life be left to me. I have seen evil days since then 
— Thames running red with civil blood, if I may so 
speak, and all this fair land of England disturbed 
with the strife of brothers fighting against brothers. 
But these days had not then come ; and if there 
were signs and tokens of the storms tliat were gatlier- 
ing, and such, doubtless, there were for them that 
had discerning eyes, I was too young to take note 
of them. And I was newly come from a city where 
there was but little talk of aught but pestilence and 
death, and doleful sights and sounds about me on 
every side, so that the country scenes, full of glad- 
ness and life, into which I had, as it were, escaped, 
were the more exceedingly delightful. Nor is there, 
methinks, a fairer thing in England, when one is 
once past the environs of the city, than Thames, nor 
any season in which Thames is more to be admired 
than that early summer in which we were then jour- 
neying. For the trees are in their fullest leaf and 
not yet withered at all by the heat, and the river- 
banks are bright with fiowers, as the forget-me-nots 
and the fiags, both yellow and purple, and the water- 


OF THE PLAGUE AND OTHER MATTERS. 


25 


plants, of more kinds than I can name, gay with 
blossom; also one may see the water-hens and the 
grebes, leading about their newly hatched broods, 
and the swans, carrying on their backs their cygnets, 
whose brown plumes show forth tenderly from out 
the silvery white, and the halcyons with their comely 
colors of green and red, carrying food to their young. 
All these and many more things that I have not the 
wit duly to describe did I see and note, young though 
T was, during our voyage. 

Also, as we went along, William Beasley would 
cast a bait — a moth, maybe, or a slug, or sometimes, 
to my no small wonder, a morsel of cheese — under 
the boughs that hung over the water and draw out 
thence mighty big chevenders, or, as some call them, 
chubs. This he did with a most dexterous hand; ay, 
and having caught them, he w^ould cook them no less 
skilfully ; so that this fish, which I have since found 
to be tasteless, made as dainty meat as could be de- 
sired ; or was it that the flavor v/as not in the dish 
but in its surroundings ? And when we had accom- 
plished our journey for the day, he would prepare 
an angle for me, and teach me to catch roaches and 
perches. And once, I remember, when I was pull- 
ing to me a roach that was on the hook, a pike of 
some six or seven pounds laid hold upon him, and 
would not let go, so bold and ravenous was he. And 
William Beasley, in the deftest manner that ever I 
beheld (and I have seen the same thing oft attempt- 
ed since, but never accomplished), put a hand -net 
under the beast and brought him in. And he would 
have it, being one of the kindest hearts that ever 
lived, that I had caught the pike. And we had a 


26 WITH THE KING AT OXFORD. 

great feast off him : ’twas excellent meat, white and 
firm, though somewhat weedy, said William ; but I 
noted nothing amiss. Near to Oxford my father met 
me, and carried me home, where I lived with much 
content until the time when, as I have said, the Mer- 
chant Taylors’ School was opened again, a space of 
fifteen months and more. ’Twas not lost time so far 
as learning was concerned, for our good parson took 
me in hand again and taught me. And, indeed, he 
had been teaching my sister Dorothy, so that she was 
a match, ay, and more than a match, for me, being 
both older and of nimbler wit. But being the ten- 
derest soul alive, and fearing that I should be grieved 
if she outstripped me too far, she would hold back ; 
and I, thinking that I could vanquish her, and being 
sometimes by her suffered so to do, did my utmost. 
Verily I believe that I had not learned more at the 
school itself, though my preceptors there were dili- 
gent both with the voice and the rod, in which latter 
instrument of learning they had such faith as Sol- 
omon himself, who, methinks, has much affliction of 
youth to answer for, could not have excelled. Nor 
did I gain in learning only, but also in strength of 
body and health, in which, haply, I had fared ill had 
I been cooped within the City walls. 

In the year 1643 — for that I be not tedious to 
them that shall read this history I shall say no more 
of my school-days — I, being then eighteen years of 
age and not unfit, if I may say so much of myself, to 
compare with the best scholars of the said school, did 
hope for my election to a vacancy in the College of 
St. John the Baptist at Oxford. But of this hope I 
was disappointed, not altogether, methinks, of iny 


OF THE PLAGUE AND OTHEP MATTERS. 


27 


own fault. It came about in this manner. About the 
beginning of May comes a letter from the president 
and fellows of the college, wherein they write that 
they dare not, by reason of the troubles of the times, 
venture so far as to come to London that they might 
take part, as their custom was, in the election of 
scholars to their college. So it turned out, to cut the 
matter short, that the Company held the said elec- 
tion privately by themselves. Now my uncle. Master 
Harland aforesaid, died about this time; and as dur- 
ing his life he had been somewhat masterful, ruling 
most things according to his pleasure, so now, being 
dead, there was, so to speak, a turn of the tide against 
him and his, by which turn I suffered. They also to 
whom I looked for help, to wit, the president and 
fellows of St. John’s College, were absent for the 
cause that I have already set forth. And so it hap- 
pened that when it came to the election I had but 
two voices. And this I say not by way of complaint 
against them that ordered the election, nor of mur- 
muring against God, but because I desire to set forth 
what befell me, and, as far as I can, the causes of the 
same. As for murmuring, indeed, I doubt much 
whether I lost any great profit in this matter, though 
I will confess that it was at the time no small disap- 
pointment and bitterness. For the same cause that 
hindered the fellows of the college from coming to 
London, hindered also the scholars that were then 
elected from going to Oxford ; so that it was a long 
time before they were admitted to their preferment. 
And, in truth, when they were admitted, it was but 
an unprofitable matter, for the college was almost 
at the point of dissolution for lack of means, many 


28 


WITH THE KING AT OXFORD. 


of its tenants not being able to pay their rents, and 
some that had the ability making pretence of the 
troubles of the times to cover their dishonesty. And 
thus my school-days came to an end. 


CHAPTER IV. 

OF THINGS AT HOME. 

I HAVE said but little hitherto of our civil troubles ; 
and, indeed, they touched us but lightly within the 
walls of our school. I had almost said that they did 
but give a new name to our sports ; for whereas our 
factions — such as a school commonly has — had before 
called themselves by the names of Greeks and Tro- 
jans, or Romans and Carthaginians, according as Ho- 
rner or Livy were most in our hands, so now we were 
King’s men and Parliament’s men, or rebels, as we 
that were of the loyal faction would often style these 
latter. But it must be confessed that there was some- 
thing beyond the ordinary of veritable anger in these 
combats ; so that once or twice the partisans appeared 
in their places in school with broken heads or other 
damage, and would doubtless have so done more of- 
ten but for fear of our master, Mr. Edwards, who did 
mete out a most severe and impartial justice to all 
that presumed to disturb the peace of his realm. 
The City folk were for the most part friends to the 
Parliament, and their faction had the majority of 
the scholars. Yet the King, too, had those that stood 
stoutly by him ; of whom I, being tall and strong and 


OF THINGS AT HOME. 


29 


expert in all bodily exercises, was chosen to be the 
leader. 

I do remember what a fierce battle we had on the 
fifth day of January, in the year 1642, which was the 
day following that on which the King would have 
seized the five members. So hot were we about it 
that we noted not our master coming upon us and 
finding us in flagrante delicto. A battle of the bees, 
says Virgil, is stayed by the throwing of a little dust, 
and we were pacified by the first sound of his voice ; 
and, indeed, though I have had experience of sundry 
sights and sounds of terror, I know nothing so terri- 
ble as the voice of a school-master, so he be one that 
hath, what all have not, the true secret of rule. He 
had noted down the names of all the chief comba- 
tants before we were aware of him; nor did one of 
them escape due punishment. As for myself, being, 
as I suppose, of such an age, and maybe strength 
that I could scarce be flogged, he set me to English 
the first book of the ^^Pharsalia” of Lucan, which 
treats, as all know, of the civil wars of Rome. ’Tis 
choice verse, doubtless, but passing difiicult — or so at 
least I found it — and gave me but scant leisure be- 
tween Epiphany-tide (’twas on the .fifth day of Jan- 
uary that the tumult was) and the beginning of Lent, 
a space of near upon two months. So much, then, 
for our mimicries of war. But now, coming home 
— which I did not long after my hopes at the school 
had been, as I have said, disappointed — I found the 
reality. And, indeed, on my journey, which was not 
accomplished without peril, I had seen something of 
it. For coming by way of Thame — which I was ad- 
vised was to be preferred because some troopers of 


30 


WITH THE KING AT OXFORD. 


the Prince Eupert lay at Pawley near to Henley- 
iipon-Thames and harried all travellers with small 
respect of parties — and staying to bait my horse at 
the inn, I heard that a notable man was lying dead 
in one of the chambers. (’Twas Midsummer-day, I 
remember.) This was Master John Hampden, who 
had been shot in the shoulder upon Chalgrove Field 
six days before, and being carried to Thame, died 
there on the very day on which I chanced to pass 
through. His name had been much in men’s mouths, 
and was not a little regarded even by them who 
judged him to have erred (of which number was I); 
and it troubled me not a little to hear that he had 
been slain, though he was an enemy to the King. I 
had heard before of such things,- and, indeed, at Edge- 
hill, where the King’s men and the army of the Par- 
liament under my Lord Essex had fought with doubt- 
ful success, thousands had been slain and wounded ; 
but now I saw death close at hand for the first time, 
and it moved me mightily. 

I found my father greatly discomposed, though at 
first he sought to hide his trouble by jest and banter. 
The first evening after my coming, as we sat by the 
fire, for he was one that even at midsummer would 
have a fire, be it ever so small, he smoking his pipe, 
which was a custom he had learned of the Germans, 
he began thus with me : 

I am for the King, as you well know, son Philip ; 
but ’twould be well if you could be persuaded in your 
conscience that the Parliament has the right.” 

I could say nothing, being struck dumb, so to speak, 
with astonishment. Then he went on : 

’Tis the fashion hereabouts to order things in this 


OF THINGS AT HOME. 


31 


way, and has been since these present troubles began, 
as doubtless you would have known but for being 
away in London. See now there is Master Holmes 
at Upcott, t’other side of the river ; he is for the Par- 
liament, and Geoffrey his son is for the King; and 
Sir William Tresham, of Parton,is a stanch Cavalier, 
but William Tresham the younger e’en as stanch a 
Roundhead.” 

“Nay, father,” said I, ffxiding rny iiongue at last, 
“ I cannot conceive that I should be found different 
from you in this matter.” 

Then he laughed and said, “ Your schooling has 
not made your wits as nimble as might have been 
looked for. Dost not see how the matter stands ? If 
the King prevail, no harm shall befall Upcott, for is 
not Geoffrey loyal? nor any if the Parliament get 
the better, seeing that Master Holmes himself hath 
ever been zealous for it. And for Sir William, ’tis 
but the same story told the other way. Master Tresh- 
am goes in the new ways, but the good knight his 
father loves the old; and it cannot but be that the 
one or the other is in the right. What say you ? I 
am too old to change, and the world would wonder 
if, when I have fought for his Majesty’s house, I 
should now turn against him ; but you have been 
brought up among the citizens, with whom he is, I 
am told, in but small favor. Shall we make a Mas- 
ter Doubleface between us, and make the inheritance 
sure whatever may befall ?” 

What I should have said I know not, for though 
the matter of his speech was utterly strange to me, 
he showed no token but of being utterly serious; 
but I must have showed some distemper in my 


32 


WITH THE KING AT OXFORD. 


face, for before I could answer, he broke in upon 
me : 

“Nay, son Philip, answer not. ’Tis enough. I 
did ill to jest on such a matter, which is indeed too 
serious for any words but those of soberness. Come, 
let us take counsel together. To live here is a thing 
past all enduring, at least for any man that cares not 
to ru.. with the hare and hunt with the hounds. An 
I could welcome Parliament’s men one day and 
the King’s men the next, I might make a good profit 
out of both, and so fare well. But such is not to my 
taste. My purpose then is to put my sword to the 
grindstone again, and to take service with the King. 
I am not what I was, but I am not too old to 
strike a blow for the good cause. The farm I shall 
leave to John Yickers. ’Tis an honest man enough, 
but he cares not, I do believe in my heart, one groat 
for King or Parliament, so that he gets in the hay 
and corn without damage of blight or hinderance of 
weather. I have made a covenant with him, not in 
writing, but by word of mouth— for be he not honest, 
as indeed I do trust he is, writing will not bind him 
more than speech — that he shall pay so much by tlie 
year, according as the price of corn shall be. ’Twill 
be, as I reckon, about eighty pounds ; of this I shall 
keep twenty for my own use, so that I shall not need 
to trouble the King’s chest, which has, as I take it, 
enough, and more than enough to do. Your moth- 
er’s portion is in the hands of Nicholas Barratt, 
a maltster of Reading, who pays six pounds per 
centum, making thirty pounds by the year in all. 
And this, with the residue of that which comes 
from John Tickers, she must make suflSce for her- 


OF THINGS AT HOME. 


33 


self and your sister Dorothy and you. And now for 
yourself.” 

At that I brake in : “ That matter is soon sped. 
My place is nowhere but with my father.” 

Nay,” said he, you have forgotten half the com- 
mandment, which runs, ^ Honor thy father and tJty 
mother^ Thy mother and sister must needs dwell 
in Oxford, and I should not be content to leave them 
there without some man of their kindred to take their 
part. I'd'oubt neither the loyalty nor the courage of 
those that serve his Majesty, but there are not a few 
among them that are somewhat loose of life, which is, 
indeed, but too common a fault of soldiers. You will 
soon see for yourself that a fair maid, such as your 
sister Dorothy, could scarce stir abroad had she not 
you to bear her company, nor would I have you at 
your age in a camp ; ’tis not a place for a lad, as you 
still are, for all your inches and broad shoulders. 
’Tis the time for learning and fitting yourself for 
your work in life ; for these wars will come to an 
end some day, though I doubt not that they will last 
so long that this realm shall be almost brought to 
ruin. And what would you do, being left at two or 
three-and-twenty years of age, having learned noth- 
ing and forgotten much, and ^ and all thy occupation 
gone,’ as Will Shakespeare hath it?” 

It matters not what I said in answer to this. I did 
not yield at once, but debated the matter for a while, 
being thus disappointed of my hope. But ’twas all 
to no purpose, for my father was resolute, and I could 
not but acknowledge in my heart that he had the 
right. 

The next day, therefore, my mother and sister hav- 

3 


84 


WITH THE KING AT OXFORD. 


ing for some time past bestirred themselves to get all 
things ready for removal, we left our home and jour- 
neyed to Oxford, lodging for a time at the Maiden- 
head, which is a tavern opposite to Lincoln College, 
till we could find a convenient dwelling in the town. 
Tliis was no easy matter, for Oxford was full, it may 
be said to overflowing, with courtiers and soldiers. 
But at last, by the kindness of Mistress Wood, widow 
of Thomas Wood, that had died the year before, hav- 
ing been always a good friend to my father, we found 
a little house not far from Merton College. ’Twas 
but a poor place, having only two chambers with one 
parlor and a kitchen, with no garden but a little yard 
only (a thing which troubled the women folk much, 
not only because it stinted them of air and exercise,, 
the streets being scarce fit for them to walk in, but 
because they were constrained to buy such trifles as 
parsley and mint, and everything, though but the ver- 
iest trifle, that was needed for the household). Yet 
we were right glad to find even this shelter, having 
almost begun to despair; and, indeed, we scarce suf- 
fered the former occupiers, the widow and daughter 
of a King’s oflicer, newly slain in the wars, to depart 
before we filled their places, so fearful were we lest 
some one else should be beforehand with us. Nor 
indeed, for veiy shame, could we complain, seeing 
that Mistress Wood lived in a house that was scarce 
better than ours, her own having been given up to 
my Lord Colepepper, Master of the Rolls. Nor was 
it a slight matter tlmt this narrow dwelling suited 
our shallow purse, for shallow it was when money 
was so scarce and all articles of provision so dear as 
we found them to be in Oxford. And here let me 


OF THINGS AT HOME. 


35 


say that neither did Master Barratt fail to pay inter- 
est on my mother’s fortune, nor John Vickers his 
yearly rent, most scriipnlously calculated according 
to the current price of corn. The worthy man also 
did send my mother many gifts of fruit and butter, 
and fowls, and game in its season, so that although we 
had no superfluity, we never lacked, but could give 
to many that needed. Of these, indeed, there was no 
small number in Oxford, some of them being per- 
sons of good estate, that, having less honest tenants 
than John Vickers, could get no return of rent from 
their lands. 

Me my father entered at Lincoln College, with the 
rector of which. Dr. Paul Hood, he had a friendship 
(or I should rather say an acquaintance) of old stand- 
ing. By good-fortune it happened that the place of 
one of the four Trappes scholars fell empty beyond 
expectation, the scholar having taken service with the 
King and being killed in battle. The news came on 
the very day of my entering, and as I had gained 
some credit by answering, and much praise from 
them that examined me, and no one else desired the 
place, the vacancy being, as I have said, without ex- 
pectation, I was chosen to it by a unanimous voice. 
’Twas no great matter, fifty-two shillings by the year 
only ; but ’twas, nevertheless, a welcome promotion. 


36 


WITH THE KING AT OXFORD. 


CHAPTER y. 

OF THINGS AT OXFORD. 

’Twas a stirring time at Oxford when I first be- 
gan my residence in the university. The King had 
there his headquarters, and there was scarce a day 
but messengers came bearing news, good or bad, of 
the war that was being carried forward in every part 
of England. Also a Parliament sat — I speak now 
of the first year of my residence, that is to say from 
October, 1643, to the same month of the year fol- 
lowing — at which were present some hundred and 
fifty, reckoning both commoners and peers. But of 
these matters I shall say more hereafter; at the 
present I will speak rather of things concerning my 
own college. 

Lincoln College is a fair building, of an honorable 
antiquity, there being six colleges only that are old- 
er than it and ten that are of newer date, but it has 
only a poor estate, its first founder having died be- 
fore he could fulfil his purpose, and other benefac- 
tors, for such have not been wanting to us, not 
wholly making good his unwilling defect. Its chief 
ornament is the chapel, which is in the Gothic style 
(a style, in my judgment, much to be preferred to 
the Italian novelty which many in these days pre- 
fer), fairly lined with cedar, and illustrated with 
windows most handsomely painted. These windows 
were brought from Italy at the instance of the 


OF THINGS AT OXFORD. 


37 


builder, Dr. Williams, sometime Bishop of Lincoln 
and Lord Keeper, whose liberality in this matter is 
the more to be commended because he is not even 
of this university, but visitor only of the college in 
right of his bishopric. My chamber was under the 
roof at the top of the chapel staircase, and had a fair 
prospect of the church of All Saints, which, in a sort, 
belongs to the college, and of that part of the town 
which lies towards the river. 

On the first day of November, being All-saints- 
day, we — that is to say, all the members of the col- 
lege then residing, from the rector to the clerks — 
walked in solemn procession to this church, where 
prayers were said, and a sermon preached by Master 
Richard Chalfont, the sub -rector — the rector, to 
whom the duty of this discourse more properly be- 
longs, pleading inabilit}^ by reason of illness; but 
’tis thought that ’twas an excuse rather than a rea- 
son, and that, being a prudent man, as was most 
abundantly proved by his keeping his preferment 
through all the changes of the times, he chose rather 
to be silent in so critical a juncture of affairs. We 
looked for a discourse on political matters from 
Master Chalfont, who was very hot for the King ; 
but he preached on no such subject, but on the pleas- 
ures which shall be enjoyed in heaven. Some 
thought the theme ill - chosen, but others, to whose 
opinion I incline, greatly commended this choice, 
saying that of politics we hear enough, and more 
than enough, in the market-place, and that higher 
things are more befitting the sanctuary. ’Twas a 
most academical discourse. I remember he told us 
that we should there, among other good things, find 


S8 WITH THE KING AT OXFORD. 

repaired all damages that time or accident has made 
in the remains of antiquity, reading, for example, the 
comedies of Eupolis, a contemporary, but elder, of 
Aristophanes, which have been most lamentably lost, 
and such books of Livy and Tacitus as are wanting 
to the manuscripts, and solving also problems of 
geometry and algebra which are beyond our present 
skill. I thought that many of the auditors listened 
to these prognostications with blank faces, as think- 
ing, doubtless, that they had here upon earth more 
than a sufficiency of such things. 

The day was kept as a high day in the college, 
provision beyond the ordinary being made both for 
dinner and supper in the hall. There was no lack 
of jollity, though I heard some complain, in a doubt- 
ful manner, of the change which had been wrought 
since the last Gaudy (for such is the name, being 
short for gaudeamus^ which they give to this festiv- 
ity) was held. Then there had been a goodly show 
of plate, none drinking save out of silver; but this was 
now all gone, being melted down for the pay of his 
Majesty’s soldiers, and our cups were of earthenware. 

On Shrove Tuesday, which, in the year 1644 (to 
which I am now come), fell on the second day of 
March, there was held what, if I may borrow a word 
from a venerable custom of antiquity, may be styled 
the initiation of the Freshmen. The fire in the hall 
was made earlier than ordinary; the Fellows also 
went to supper before six, and made an end sooner 
than at other times, so leaving the hall to the liberty 
of the undergraduates, but not without an admoni- 
tory hint given by the sub -rector, as having charge 
of the discipline of the college, that all things should 


OF THINGS AT OXFORD. 


39 


be carried on in good order. While they were at 
supper in the hall, the cook was making hot caudle 
at the charge of the Freshmen, who, I should have 
said, are all that have come into the university since 
the Shrove Tuesday last before. (Caudle, I should 
say, for the sake of those that are not learned in 
such matters, is a drink made of oatmeal flour, mixed 
in water, with sherry wine.) This being ready, and 
all the undergraduates and servants being assembled 
in the hall, each Freshman, in his turn, according to 
his seniority, was constrained to make a speech, but 
not without preparation, for notice was given that it 
would be required of him on Candlemas-day. First, 
he plucked off his gown and bands, and made him- 
self look as like a low fellow as he could ; some, 1 
must needs confess, acquitting themselves in this 
respect with much success. This done, he made his 
speech, being placed on a form, which was set on the 
high table, touching with such wit as he was master 
of on the persons and characters of his brother-fresh- 
men and on the servants of the college, the latter 
more especially, being a game at which the very fee- 
blest hawks could fly. If he did well, speaking in 
an audible voice, and with a good fluency of words 
and passable matter, there was given him a cup of 
caudle, and no salted drink ; if he did indifferently, 
neither ill nor well, some caudle and some salted 
drink ; but if he was dull, or halted in his speech, 
then he had nothing but salted drink ; that is to say, 
beer, with salt therein, and tucks* to boot. This 


* A “tuck ” was a pinch, given with finger and thumb under 
the lip, and sometimes drawing blood. 


40 


WITH THE Mm AT OXFORD. 


done, the senior cook adnainistered to him an oath, 
which began thus: Item tu jurabis, quod 
bench non visitabis,” but the rest I forget. As for 
‘^penniless bench,” ’tis a seat by St. Martin’s Church 
(which is also called Carfax), where the hucksters and 
butter- women sit. This oath each Freshman took 
over an old shoe, which when he had kissed with due 
solemnity, he put on again his gown and bands, and 
was duly admitted into the worshipful company of 
seniors. This was doubtless but foolish work, though 
I doubt me much whether now, when we are so far 
wiser that all such festivities are forbidden, we be 
much better. I trust, at the least, that none will 
think the worse of me if I boast that I did my fool- 
ing so graciously that the cup that was given to me 
was of caudle only, and no admixture of salt. 

Such sportiveness is to be looked for in the young; 
and, indeed, did their gay temper and light heart lead 
them no farther than into such diversions, there were 
small cause for blame ; it may be alleged, also, there 
was something academical, though turned to purposes 
of mirth, in these our enforced disputings. So much 
may not be said of all the sports to which the younger 
sort were addicted. Some were given to the fighting 
of cocks, a barbarous thing in my judgment, though 
long custom has appropriated it to the last day before 
Lent, so that some would think the world itself shaken 
in its foundations were this absent; but, be it good 
or bad, ’twill be acknowledged that ’tis not a seemly 
thing for the quadrangle of a college, where I have 
seen it practised, and that not once or twice only. 
The baiting of badgers also with terrier dogs was 
much followed. As for hunting the fox, it was in- 


OF THINGS AT OXFORD. 


41 


terrupted by the war ; for who could follow the chase 
when he was like to find the King’s men in one vil- 
lage and the Parliament’s soldiers in the next? So 
the war brought peace, I may say, to the foxes ; but 
the hares and partridges had little rest, for the dis- 
turbed times gave excuse to many for carrying fire- 
arms, which they could use, as occasion served, for 
their own purposes. But who could know whether a 
musket were loaded with a bullet that might kill a 
man, or with small shot that might bring down a 
beast or a bird ? And if ’twas a bullet that it bore, 
what was to hinder it being used against a fat hart 
or a roebuck? The keepers of game had, I take it, 
an ill time in these days ; indeed, their occupation 
was in many places wholly given up. And if such 
abuses have commonly been found among the schol- 
ars of the university, now they prevailed tenfold more. 
But of this more in its proper place. 

- But what shall be said of the seniors, the Masters 
of Arts. Before I came to Oxford I had thought, in 
my simplicity, that these were all grave and reverend 
persons, given to books and study, that, as our new 
poet. Master John Milton, has it, did ^^outwatch the 
Bear but I soon learned to think otherwise ; and 
here I will take leave to tell a true tale, from which 
may be seen how some of these reverend seniors did 
demean themselves. But that there were grave and 
pious men even in the worst times I shall not deny. 

There was in the college a certain Master of Arts, 
by name Thomas Smith, a violent person, who had 
been admonished and punished for diverse offences 
and disorders, of which it was counted not the least 
heinous that he kept dogs in his chamber, and would 


42 


WITH THE KING AT OXFORD. 


neither remove them nor himself when warned by 
the rector so to do. Master Smith had a quarrel, in 
which private enmity was doubtless aggravated by 
public differences, with another Master of Arts, also 
dwelling in the college, by name Nicholas North, and 
a minister. They had had diverse fallings out in 
time past, but the gravest of all, by reason of which 
Master Smith came near to being expelled from tlie 
college (and doubtless had been so but for the favor 
of some Fellows that were of his way of thinking in 
matters of Church and State), was this. It will be 
best told in their own words, as I afterwards found it 
written down ; and first for Master North’s account : 

“ On Monday night, immediately after I had sup- 
ped in the buttery, going in the new quadrangle, I 
heard a door shut, and thinking it had been mine, 
said to him that came forth, ^ Who is there ?’ Master 
Smith answered, ‘ Who are you that examine me ?’ I 
replied, ^ I do not examine you.’ He said, ^ You are a 
base rogue for examining me.’ When I heard him 
say so, fearing he would fall upon me, I hasted with 
all the speed I could to my chamber ; but, as I opened 
the door. Master Smith caught hold of my gown and 
said, ^ Sirrah ! Come out ; you are a base rogue for 
examining me !’ Said I, ‘ You cannot prove me such. 
I pray you let me go ; I have naught to say to you.’ 
‘ Ay,’ said he, ^ but I have something to say to you ;’ 
and taking me by the ear and hair of the head with 
one hand, he plucked out a cudgel that was under his 
gown, and making into the chamber upon me, struck 
me with the cudgel upon the head. About the third 
blow it broke in two. After that he struck me half 
a dozen blows with that piece he had in his hand, 


OF THINGS AT OXFORD. 


43 


and when I wrested this out of his hand he laid me 
about the face with his list. There being two in my 
chamber, I asked them whether they were not ashamed 
to see me beaten in my own chamber, and would not 
call company to take him off. After a while came 
Master Chalfont* running in, and took him off from 
me, and three several times did Master Smith call 
me ‘ base rogue ’ and run in upon me, and was taken 
off three times by Master Chalfont ; and when I en- 
treated him to go out of my chamber he called me a 
base, inferior rogue, and would not go out till he had 
every piece of his stick.” 

Now for Master Smith’s story : 

^‘Corning out of my chamber on Monday night, 
about seven of the clock, I met Master North coming 
forth from his chamber. He said, ^ What are you, 
sir V I answered, ^ What is that to you V He drew 
me to his chamber door. I asked him why he used 
me so. He said that I had taken something out of 
his chamber. I told him that he was an unw'orthy 
man, and I would make him know himself ; and Mas- 
ter North being within his chamber, dared me to fall 
on him, saying, ‘ Strike me if thou durst !’ Then I 
perceived a bedstaff in his gown sleeve, he holding 
the little end in his hand and the great end down- 
ward. Thereupon, having a stick in my hand, I 
struck at him, and Iiitting him on the top of the head, 
broke the stick in pieces.” 

Here Master Smith was questioned how he came 


* This Richard Chalfont was expelled in the year 1648. He 
was minister to the company of English merchants in Rotter- 
dam. 


44 


WITH THE KING AT OXFORD. 


to have a stick, which it is against rule and custom 
to carry. He said, ‘^1 was newly come out of town 
from the company of some friends, and by the way 
was jostled from the walk by two scholars, and hav- 
ing shortly to return, not knowing whether I might 
be abused again, took the stick under my gown.’’ 

Further, in answer to Master North, he said, I do 
not absolutely know whether I did after strike him 
in his chamber, but might have so done, partly by 
heat of passion and ill-language that was given me, 
and partly defending myself.” 

There was no small discussion about this matter, 
but in the end Master Smith was commanded to pay 
ten pounds to Master North for the wrong done to 
him (of which sum Master North was persuaded to 
abate a third part), and to make a public submission 
and acknowledgment in tlie chapel in the face of 
all the society assembled. And these two things he 
did. 

Such were the manners of the time, and after- 
wards, as will be seen, they grew worse rather than 
better. 


CHAPTER VI. 

OF THE KING’S GOING TO WORCESTER. 

My father was well remembered by some of the 
older sort about the King’s person, as also by the 
Prince Rupert, elder son of the Princess Elizabeth, 
and so nephew to the King, who, when he was a 
child, had greatly favored him. Hence, without any 
delay, he obtained the commission of a captain of 


OF THE KING’S GOING TO WORCESTER. 


45 


horse. Indeed, being a man of capacity and of some 
experience in military matters, while most of the 
King’s officers were wholly raw and iminstructed in 
the art of war, he had more weight in council than 
of right belonged to his rank ; nor do I doubt but 
that, had it not pleased God to order things otherwise, 
he would have been promoted to a principal com- 
mand. Indeed he had, very soon after his first join- 
ing the array, the chief direction of his regiment, the 
colonel being a young gentleman of quality, that had 
none of the virtues belonging to a soldier save cour- 
age only, unless it is to be counted as a virtue that 
he knew his own ignorance, and gave a ready ear 
to the council of wiser men. 

For myself, I gave my attention to things academi- 
cal, and was a diligent student, exercising an indus- 
try which, I make bold to say, few others in the uni- 
versity excelled. This, it must be confessed, was not 
altogether of ray own .free choice; but my father 
would have it so. Stick to your books,” he would 
say, son Philip, so long as you can. Thus for the 
present time you will serve your cause most effect- 
ually. If the need come for your hand, I shall not 
spare to call you; but remember tliat it is easier to 
take up the sword than to lay it down.” Never- 
theless, with my father’s consent, that I might be 
ready for such occasion whensoever it might come, 
I learned my exercises, both as a foot-soldier and a 
trooper. (I had learned to ride while yet a child, 
perfecting myself in the art during my long com- 
pelled absence from school in the time of the plague.) 
I had, through the bounty of my father, arms of my 
own, namely, a steel cap, a back and breast piece and 


46 


WITH THE KING AT OXFORD. 


a pike, with the other appurtenances. We trained 
commonly in the quadrangle of New College, the 
warden whereof. Dr. Kobert Pink, deputy vice-chan- 
cellor, was a zealous King’s man. There was a school 
kept in the cloisters of New College, wherein were 
taught first the singing boys of the chapel (with which 
scarce any other in England can be compared), and 
also other youth of the town. And I remember what 
ado the ushers had with the lads on the training 
days. There was no holding them in their school on 
these occasions ; neither tasks nor the terror of the 
lash could hinder them from seeing and following 
the soldiers. 

As this year (1644) went on, it was more and more 
manifest that the King was in a great strait. My 
father would have it that he was ill served by his 
advisers, especially in their continual changing of 
their plans, which, when they had settled them after 
long and painful debate, they would often unsettle 
without sufficient cause. I have, indeed, heard him 
say, If his Majesty would but trust his own judg- 
ment, which is indeed better than can be found in 
many of them that pretend to be his advisers, and 
having once come by a resolution would carry it out 
determinately, ’twould be well for him and for his 
kingdom.” Whatever the cause, it came to pass that in 
the month of May the King’s affairs were in such ill 
case that he was like-to be besieged in Oxford. The 
foi ces that he had with him were scarce a third part 
as niiinerous as those that the Parliament had arrayed 
against him ; nor could he look for any present help 
from elsewhere, Prince Kupert being on his march 
to relieve my Lord Derby (besieged in his castle of 


OF THE KING’S GOING TO WORCESTER. 


47 


Lathom), and Prince Maurice having sat down before 
Lyme, in the county of Dorset, a little fisher- town 
which he was not like to take, and which, if taken, 
had been but of small account. The King, therefore, 
had to retire his troops from Reading. Abingdon 
also, which is not more than five miles from Oxford, 
was abandoned, though this was against the King’s 
desire and even command expressly given; so that 
all Berkshire now was in tlie hands of Parliament by^ 
their two commanders, the Earl of Essex and Sir 
William Waller, and the King was forced to draw 
his whole force of horse and foot on the north side 
of Oxford: nay more, the Parliament came into Ox- 
fordshire, my Lord Essex getting over the Thames at 
Sandford Ferry (which is three miles away fi-om Ox- 
ford), and halting on Bullingdon Green, whence he 
sent parties of horse up to the very gates of the city. 
This was on the twenty-ninth day of May. Mean- 
while Sir William Waller also had crossed the Thames 
and was come as far as Eynsham, where he lay at my 
fether’s house, but did no damage, but was, on the 
contrary, cause of no small profit to John Vickers, 
and so, through him, to my father ; the said John sell- 
ing to him and his company poultry and eggs and 
the like at snch a price as did, in a way, avenge the 
King’s wrongs. Xow, therefore, the King was well- 
nigh surrounded, for some of my Lord Essex’s horse 
had gone forward as far as Woodstock, so that there 
was bnt one vacant space left in the circle which the 
enemy liad not yet occupied, to wit, between Eyns- 
ham and Wt>odstock, and this space was of not more 
than six miles. 

So desperate, indeed, was the situation of affairs 


48 


WITH THE KING AT OXFORD. 


that there were many now who counselled the King 
that he should give himself up to the Earl of Essex, 
to which advice he gave this answer, as my father 
told me who heard the very words as they came 
from his mouth : ’Tis possible I shall be found in 
the hands of the Earl of Essex, but I shall be dead 
first.” 

On the third day of June, at eleven of the clock 
in the forenoon, as I sat in my chamber, comes my 
father to me. I was reading, I remember, in the 
twenty-seventh book of the histories of Livy, of how 
the Consul Livius made a sudden march to join 
forces with his colleague against Hasdrubal, then 
threatening to combine his army with Hannibal’s, to 
the great danger of the commonwealth of Rome. 
My father had a more cheerful look than I had seen 
in him since my coming home. Indeed, he was one 
of tliem to whom the bare prospect of danger is a 
singular great delight, so that the whistling of a bul- 
let near to him would rouse him as a draught of wine 
does other men, and would change his ordinary mood, 
which was somewhat grave and reserved, to a most 
uncommon gayety and mirth. Says he, Son Philip, 
I see you are set to pull down Friar Bacon’s house 
about your ears."^ Nevertheless, put away your books, 
if you have a mind for a ride to-night. My colonel 
is sick of a fever, which he contracted, I take it, from 
toasting the King too zealously last night at St. John’s 
College, where they drink perilously deep. ’Tis not 
a serious ailment, but it hinders him at the present 


* The tradition was that the house would fall when a more 
learned man than the friar should pass beneath it. 


OF THE KING’S GOING TO WORCESTER. 


49 


time from the saddle; and by the King’s special 
word I am to have command of the regiment. Fur- 
ther, the King said, ^ Thou wilt need some one to car- 
ry messages and the like — a young man of courage 
and discretion, and a bold rider. Dost know of such 
a one?’ Then I said — let it not turn your head to 
hear such good opinions of yourself — ‘ Sire, I have 
a son who would do his utmost to please your Maj- 
esty.’ Then he would know who you were; but 
when he heard that you were a scholar, his face 
clouded somewhat, and he said, ^ A scholar is best at 
his books. ’Tis not the least evil of this most un- 
happy war that it has changed this seat of learning 
into a barrack of soldiers. Where shall I find preach- 
ers and counsellors if I turn my scholars into troop- 
ers?’ But when I told his Majesty that you were 
diligent at your books, he said, ‘ Well, if the lad will 
take this ride as a holiday, and return hereafter to 
his books, it shall be as you wish. Will you answer 
for him?’ And when I said that I would, it was set- 
tled that you should come. But mind, son Philip, 
that you do not falsify my word. And now I will 
have a word with Master Hood, your rector, for the 
King has promised that you shall have dispensation 
for the rest of your term if perchance you have not 
kept it.” And, indeed, I had kept but half of Trin- 
ity term, which begins on the Wednesday after Whit- 
S unday. The rector made no hinderance, being al- 
ways amenable to them that are in authority. Only 
he would not give me permission to be absent under 
his hand, which my father would gladly have had. 
“ ’Tis no need,” he said ; but I do suspect that he 
would not do aught that might be used in evidence 
4 


50 


WITH THE KING AT OXFORD. 


against him. He is a good man, of wise carriage 
and conduct, and learning sufficient for his place ; 
but His cardinal doctrine with him that he must be 
rector of Lincoln College. ’Tis not altogether ill 
with the world, he thinks, so long as that be so. 
Hitherto he has kept his profits and dignities while 
many have lost them, as 1 shall show hereafter ; and 
if, to speak profanely. Fortune shall give another 
turn to her wheel, and the King have his own again, 
I doubt not we shall find Master Hood* at the top 
in as good case as ever. 

My father had, with no small difficulty, bespoken 
a horse for me, and when I had settled my small af- 
fairs at college, I went down to William Barnes his 
stables in S. Aldate’s so as to make acquaintance with 
him. The first sight of him dashed me somewhat. 
He was, I thought, over -small for me, having not 
more than thirteen hands in height, while my stature 
exceeded six feet by three inches and more. But his 
color troubled me more than his littleness, for he was 
of the spotted kind, such as they commonly use in 
shows. William Barnes perceived that I was ill at 
ease, and would comfort me. Nay, Master,” he said, 
‘‘His an excellent beast for all his queer look. A 
good horse is ever of a good color, say I ; and as for 
strength it does not always go with bigness. I war- 
rant he would carry three of you, if his back were 
long enough. And if your legs be over- long, you 
must shorten your stirrups.” Nor, indeed, were his 


* Paul Hood held the rectorship of Lincoln College from 1620 
to 1668, and therefore outlasted the change from King to Parlia- 
ment, and from Parliament again to King. No other head of a 
house was equally compliant or equally long-lived, 


OF THE KING’S GOING TO WORCESTER. 


51 


commendations ill bestowed. It must be confessed 
that there was much laughter when I was first seen 
on his back, and laughter is sometimes almost as ill 
to bear as blows. But he never failed me in any 
need. He never flinched at the noise of the cannons 
— no, not when he heard it for the first time, whereas 
there were, I noted, many horses that could never be 
trusted, but that they would carry their riders clean 
off the field, to their no small discredit, or straight 
into the enemy, to their no small danger. But Spot 
— for so I called the good beast — was ever steady and 
obedient to the rein, and if provender were short he 
was content to wait, nor yet failed in strength, how- 
ever long the day’s work might be. Poor Spot, he 
is with many another on Haseby Field. I am not 
ashamed to confess that though I had, God knows, 
other and heavier griefs that day, I shed tears to 
think I should see him no more. But I must return 
to the time of which I am now speaking. 

Though my father had been secret as to the pur- 
pose of the ride, as he named it, to which he called 
me, I had little doubt what this might be. Yet was 
I somewhat mistaken. For thinking that the King 
was intending to go forth from Oxford, where, as I 
have said, he was near to being surrounded, to some 
part where he might have freer action, and to do this 
with a small company of followers, I found coming- 
down to the north gate, which I did about half-past 
eight on the evening, that there was a whole army 
assembled. There were, as I did afterwards dis- 
cover, about six thousand men, of whom the greater 
part were horse. The horse were drawn up in a very 
fair array in Port Meadow, which had been conven- 


52 


WITH THE KING AT OXFORD. 


iently chosen for this purpose, as lying low and so 
being out of sight of the enemy. The foot-soldiers, 
marching down the lane that runs by Aristotle’s 
Well, there joined them ; and so, about nine of the 
clock, when it was now beginning to grow dark, we 
set off, the horse, whereof my father’s regiment was 
the foremost, being in front, and the footmen follow- 
ing after with as much haste as they might. And, 
indeed, besides that all Were picked men, ’twas not a 
march in which any would desire to linger, so great 
was the danger lest the enemy’s forces, being much 
more numerous, should close upon us. These, as I 
have before said, were on either side of us, but on the 
present occasion the army of Lord Essex was the 
more to be dreaded, seeing that it had pushed for- 
ward its outposts so far as Woodstock town, whereas 
Ive, marching by Picksey and Oxsey Mead and over 
Worton Heath, skirted the very walls of Woodstock 
Park. Our chief care was concerning a certain 
bridge over the Evenlode River that is hard by the 
village of Long Hanborough, whether it were held 
by the enemy or no. For if it was so held we 
should have to fight for it, and if we fought it would 
be small odds whether we got the better or the worse, 
for we could scarce hope, being checked upon our 
way, to outstrip our pursuers. About midnight there 
was a consultation held among the leaders, whereof 
the outcome was this, that my father with two hun- 
dred horsemen, each carrying a musketeer behind 
him, rode forward with as much speed as they could 
command, being specially chosen for their courage 
and for the strength and quickness of their horses. 
It was purposed that these should occupy and hold 


OF THE KING’S GOING TO WORCESTER. 


53 


the bridge at Hanborough. With these I rode, and 
when we were come to the bridge, and by God’s 
providence found it vacant, says my father to mq 
Son Philip, ride back to the army with all the 
speed you can, and tell the good news to the King.” 
So I rode, putting spurs to my horse, though indeed 
the good beast needed not spur nor whip; and when 
I arrived at the army I found the King, with whom 
was the whole inception and conduct of the affair 
from the beginning to the end, had ridden to the 
front. And when he saw me, careful and troubled 
as he was about the matter, he had much ado to keep 
from laughter, so strange a figure did we show. But 
when he heard my news, he said, This is excellent 
good tidings ; never came more welcome Mercury 
than thou. And that need be a marvellous good 
beast of thine, be his looks what they may, for thee 
to have gone and returned so speedily. But spare 
him now, and follow quietly.” 

There is no need to write of this march at length, 
though indeed it was marvellously well conceived 
and executed. Let it suffice then to say so much as 
follows. We proceeded without halt till the after- 
noon, when we came to Burford, which is distant 
from Oxford about sixteen miles. There we re- 
freshed ourselves a while, and his Majesty was so 
graciously disposed that he would have my father and 
me to sup with him and the great lords that were 
about his person. After supper he talked with my 
father a while about military affairs, asking his opin- 
ion in the most courteous fashion ; and he had also a 
few words with me about my books, not forgetting to 
warn me that I must not neglect them for any pleas- 


54 


WITH THE KING AT OXFORD. 


ures or excitements of war. About nine of the clock 
the King, desiring to put as much space as might be 
between himself and his pursuers, gave command to 
march, which was performed, but not without some 
murmuring. And, indeed, it was a laborious march, 
for thougli our way for the most part lay along the 
valley, yet at the last, it being little short of midnight, 
we made a steep ascent, and so having mounted the 
height with no small pains, descended the same with 
no less to Bo urton-on- the- Water. Here we rested for 
the night, keeping under such shelter as we could 
find, or, the greater part of us, under none at all. We 
had marched, I take it, not less than thirty miles, 
which is no small achievement, especially for an 
army that had been for many months past in garri- 
son. The next day betimes we set forth again, the 
King intending at the first to halt at Evesham, but 
after hearing that General Waller was in pursuit, and 
that crossing the Avon at Stratford might so cut him 
oflE from Worcester, to which place he was bound, 
changed his purpose and went on without halt to 
Worcester. And here I must record a marvellous 
deliverance from instant danger that befell me on 
my way. ’T was at Pershore, in Worcestershire, where 
there is a bridge over the Avon. This the King com- 
manded should be broken down, and gave command- 
ment accordingly to the officer that had the charge 
of such matters. But he being either new to his busi- 
ness, or over-hasty to finish the matter, lest the enemy 
should percliance come up and find it undone, set fii'e 
to the gunpowder wherewith it was to be destroyed, 
before the due time. By this misadventure Major 
Bridges, a very skilful and courageous man, was 


OF THE FIGHT AT COPREDY BRIDGE. 


55 


killed, and with him also three other officers and 
about twenty common soldiers. I myself w^as like to 
have perished with these, being thrown into the river, 
by the falling of the bridge. But being somewhat 
before the others I escaped, for whereas they were 
done to death by the force of the explosion, I did but 
lose my footing and fall into the river. And here 
again my good steed showed how excellent a beast 
he was, for he swam most bravely against the stream, 
and in the end landed me on the bank, being not 
much the worse save for the wetting. F rom Evesham 
the King rode to Worcester, where the townsfolk re- 
ceived him with much rejoicing. 


CHAPTER VII. 

OF THE FIGHT AT COPREDY BRIDGE. 

Of his Majesty’s marchings and countermarch- 
ings, after his coming to the city of Worcester, I shall 
not write in this place, save to say that they were or- 
dered with such skill as utterly confounded his pur- 
suers. But they tliat read this book will, I doubt not, 
pardon me if I speak somewhat particularly of the 
battle which his Majesty fought at Copredy Bridge, 
seeing that it was the first battle in which I had a 
hand. 

On the twenty-eighth day of June, being a Friday, 
the army lay for the night in the field, eastward of 
Banbury. The next day the King marched to the 
North, having the Cherwell River on his left hand, 
Sir William Waller at the same time coasting on the 


56 


WITH THE KING AT OXFORD. 


other side of the river. My father and I were with 
the rear of the army, in which were a thousand foot 
and two brigades of horse, of which the one was com- 
manded by my Lord Northampton, and the other by 
my Lord Cleveland. In this latter was the regiment 
of which my father had charge for the time. About 
noon we halted to dine. This business finished, we 
began again to march, not expecting that the enemy, 
who was some way distant from the river, would fall 
upon us. But about two of the clock we noted that 
the body of the army — with which was the King him- 
self — had since dinner made such . haste that there 
was now a great space left between them and us ; for 
we had received no command to quicken our march- 
ing. Being somewhat uneasy at this — for it was not 
to be doubted that Sir William Waller, being a man 
experienced in warfare, would take occasion of this 
dividing of the army to fall upon us — we spied cer- 
tain scattered horsemen riding towards us, with such 
hurry and confusion as men are when they are pur- 
sued. While w^e wondered what this might mean 
comes a rider post-haste to my Lord Cleveland, and 
says. 

My lord, be on your guard, and make ready to 
defend yourselves. The enemy has taken Copredy 
Bridge, which the dragoons were keeping for the 
King, and will cross the river in a short space of 
time. ’Tis said that he has five thousand men and 
twenty pieces of cannon.” 

These numbers were exaggerated by fame, as is 
commonly the case, for there were, in truth, little 
more than half the number. At the same time we 
perceived that a brigade of horse, which w^e reckoned 


OF THE FIGHT AT COPREDY BRIDGE. 


57 


at about a thousand, had crossed the river by a cer- 
tain ford, which was a mile below the bridge, and 
\vas ready to fall upon us in the rear. These latter, 
being the nearer to lis of the two, seemed to my Lord 
Cleveland to demand his first care. Thereupon he 
drew up his brigade to a rising ground, which faced 
the ford aforesaid, and passed the word that we 
sliould make ready to charge. Then we all descend- 
ed from our horses and looked to our saddle-girtlis, 
that they should not fail us, and to the trimming of 
our pistols. Then, mounting again, we drew our 
swords, and so sat waiting for the word. Whether 
during that said waiting I felt any fear I can scarce 
say. ’Tis, indeed, a mighty difficult thing clearly to 
distinguish between fear and other feelings that are 
somewhat akin to it. The Latins had a certain word 
— trepidare^ to wit — which has a singular variety of 
meaning. That it has something to do with trem- 
bling ” there can scarce be doubt, and it does often 
signify such agitation of mind as is commonly shown 
by trembling ; yet sometimes also its meaning seems 
to be “ haste ” only ; and, indeed, a man may tremble 
for eagerness and not for fear. That I had any 
thought of flying or shrinking back I can, with a 
good conscience, deny. A man must be beside him- 
self with fear that should think of such a thing ; but 
my heart beat mighty quick, and I thought of them 
that were dear to me, as might one who. thinks to see 
them no more. While these things were in my 
mind comes my father, riding along in front of the 
line, to see that all were ready. When he comes to 
me — I being placed at the right end of the line — he 
laid his right hand on my shoulder, and said, Be 


58 


WITH THE KING AT OXFORD. 


steady, son Philip ; let not your horse carry you too 
fast. That you be not too slow I need not warn 
you.” ('Twas marvellous what heart he put into me 
by these w’ords, which seemed to take my courage as 
something beyond doubt.) ‘‘Give the point of your 
sword to an enemy rather than the edge, and keep 
your pistols for a last resource, when you shalt find 
yourself in close quarters with an enemy and like to 
be hard pressed.” 

When he had said so much the trumpet sounded 
for a charge, and we set spurs to our horses, and 
rode, slowly at-the first, and keeping our ranks pass- 
ably well, but afterwards at our horses’ full speed, 
and in a certain disorder. I do believe that the veri- 
est coward upon earth could not fear if he once 
found himself riding in a charge; a man cannot 
choose but forget himself, and, if lie have no cour- 
age of his own, he takes that of his company and is 
content to meet dangers at which he would other- 
wise tremble and grow pale. The enemy had scarce 
finished their crossing of the river; and though they 
put on a bold face, and even began to move forward 
to encounter us, they could not stand, but w^ere bro- 
ken at the first encounter. For myself, I clean for- 
got my father’s command that I should give the 
point of my sword, and struck lustily, often missing 
my blow altogether, and doing but little at other 
times but blunting my sword. ’Twas all the better 
so for one of the enemy’s horse that was overthrown 
by our charge. He was a lad of seventeen or there- 
abouts, a brave youth, for he would stand his ground 
though his men left him. But now he and his 
horse went down before us, and that straight in my 


OP THE FIGHT AT COPREDY BRIDGE. 


59 


way. Thereupon, being on the gronnd and helpless, 
he cried “ Quarter !” Now, wliether or no I heard 
him is more than 1 can say, but I must confess with 
siiame tliat 1 was so carried out of myself with the 
fury of battle tliat it was as if he had not spoken, 
for I struck at hiin, so lying, witli all my might. 
But the fury which caused me so to forget myself 
did also make me altogether miss my aim. God be 
thanked therefor ! for otherwise tliat day had been 
to me for all my life such a shame and sorrow as 
cannot be expressed. As I was in the act to lift my 
sword again — for I will conceal nothing — I felt a 
hand upon my arm that held it as with a grip of 
iron ; and my father, for it was he, cried in such a 
voice as I had never before heard from his lips, 
“ What savage is that that will slay a Christian man 
when he cries ‘ Quarter ?’ ” Thereat I dropped my 
sword, being, so to speak, come to myself, and might- 
ily ashamed. My father leaped down from his 
horse, and said to the young man, Yield yourself 
to me, and you shall suffer no harm.” Then the 
young man, who, now that I had leisure, I could see 
to be a cornet, yielded up his sword, and my father 
bade one of the troopers take him to the rear. This 
done, he turned him to me and said, I had almost 
as lief you were a coward as a madman. Be you 
one or the other, this is no fit place for you, and 
you had better depart.” 

“ Nay, my father,” I said, “ disgrace me not. I 
will hold myself in better check hereafter.” 

By this time the enemy had fallen back on their 
supports, and my Lord Cleveland sounded the bugle, 
and we rode back slowly to our former place. There 


60 


WITH THE KING AT OXFORD. 


was, I remember, a great ash-tree there, under which 
the King stayed to take his dinner. Looking about 
him there, my lord saw another body of the enemy 
within musket-shot of him and advancing upon him 
(these were the Parliament men that had come over 
the bridge). I doubt not but that in any case he 
would have charged them, though they counted six- 
teen cornets of horse and as many colors of foot, but 
now he was the more encouraged, because he saw 
that the body of the King’s army was drawing to his 
help. When the enemy saw him move forward, they 
halted, hiding behind the hedges, and delivered their 
volley of musket and carbine shot, which volley, 
though it emptied some of our saddles, stayed not 
our charge. Indeed, they did not abide our ap- 
proach (and, indeed, I have noted that for the most 
part there is but little crossing of swords or pikes in 
battle, but they that give place yield to the persua- 
sion of superior force that they conceive in their 
minds), but we drave them, with scarce a blow struck, 
beyond their cannon. These also we took, being 
eleven in number, and besides the cannon two bar- 
ricadoes of wood drawn up on wheels; in each of 
these were seven small guns of brass and leather, 
loaded with case-shot, which, by God’s mercy, they 
had not tarried to discharge ; else, I doubt not, we 
had suffered much damage. Certain of the cannon- 
eers were killed, and the general of the ordnance 
taken prisoner. This was a certain Scotsman, by 
name Wemyss, who was in very ill favor with the 
King’s men, because, having been made master-gun- 
ner of England, with a very considerable pension, to 
the prejudice of many honest Englishmen, he took 


OF THE FIGHT AT COPREDY BRIDGE. 


61 


the first opportunity to do him hurt. Many other 
prisoners were taken, nearly two hundred in all. In 
this charge I bore myself more discreetly, riding as 
close as I could to my father, but I found no occa- 
sion to cross swords with any enemy, for here again 
they did not abide our charge, but turned when we 
were about a pistol-shot from them. As for them 
that were slain, who were in number more than the 
prisoners, they fell in the flight, for the most part 
without striking a blow, though some parties of them 
rallied and fought for their lives. Of our party 
there fell, chiefly in this way, somewhat less than a 
score, among whom were two colonels of regiments. 

Here was finished my part in this battle. Of what 
else was done that day little needs to be said. The 
horsemen that crossed by the ford, making head 
again and threatening our rear, were charged by my 
Lord Northampton, and driven across the river; in- 
deed, these stayed not at all my lord’s approach, but 
fled so speedily and so far tliat ’tis said they never 
returned again to their own ai’iny. 

So far things went altogether well for the King. 
But when his Majesty would himself attack the en- 
emy he fared not so well. The bridge he could not 
take for all his endeavors, which he continued from 
three of the clock in the afternoon till nightfall ; and 
though his men took the ford that was below, and a 
mill adjoining thereto, and held them that day and the 
next also, not being supported by their fellows, they 
were compelled to retire. ’Tis. beyond doubt, how- 
ever, that the victory rested with the King; for 
though when the battle was finished each party held 
the same ground that it had at the first, yet the en- 


62 


WITH THE KING AT OXFORD. 


emy lost many times more both in killed and prison- 
ers. Nor must it be forgotten, as showing what the 
rebels themselves did think of the matter, that where- 
as Sir William Waller on the day of the battle had 
eiglit thousand men with him, fourteen days after- 
wards there remained with him not half that number. 

The next day the cornet of horse whom my father 
had taken prisoner was exchanged. It was his good- 
fortune that on our side also there had been taken 
an officer of the same degree. He was a lad of six- 
teen or thereabouts, somewhat weakly of body, though 
of a very high spirit, and was carried by his horse, 
which he could not by any means restrain, into the 
midst of the enemy. As for the colonels and others 
of high degree, they had to wait, there not being any 
of ours who could be exchanged against them. We 
had some talk with the lad while we lay encamped 
that night on the field of battle, but he held back 
and would say but little. But this much I gathered 
from him, that he had gone to the wars without the 
consent of his father. At the same time he was very 
.hot about certain wrongs which his father had suf- 
fered from the King or the King’s ministers, though 
what they were he did not more particularly set forth. 
He told me that he came from Northamptonshire, 
and that his father had purposed to send him to Lin- 
coln College, in which this county, as belonging to 
the diocese of Oxford, has with others a certain pref- 
erence. 

On the last day of June I returned to Oxford, my 
father remaining with the King, who was minded to 
march westward. 


OF THE PLAGUE AT OXFORD. 


63 


CHAPTER VIII. 

OF THE PLAGUE AT OXFORD AND OTHER MATTERS. 

The members of Lincoln College were for the most 
part inclined to the Parliament, though the King had 
also some friends among them. The chief of these 
was one Master Webberley, a fellow, a man of a li- 
tigious and disputatious temper, whom his Majesty’s 
cause doubtless pleased the better that it pleased not 
the greater part of his society. But ’twould be un- 
gracious in me to speak ill of him, not only because 
he always showed me much kindness, but because he 
was content, as will be seen hereafter, to suffer for 
his opinions. As for Doctor Hood, the rector, he 
was, as I have said, somewhat of a weathercock, turn- 
ing always according to the wind that blew. Kow, 
on my coming back to my chamber, he was mighty 
pleasant to me (chancing to meet me in the new 
quadrangle), and told me that the college was proud 
to have one who could use both his sword and pen, 
and other fine things of the same kind, which tlierc 
is no need to report. ’Twas fair weather then with 
the King’s cause, but ’twas clouded over very soon, 
and Master Eector’s countenance changed therewith. 
It was not four days afterwards that he passed me, 
taking no heed of my reverence which before he had 
most courteously acknowledged. Then thought I 
with myself, “ Doubtless there is ill news from the 
King.” And so it was, as I heard within the space 


64 


WITH THE KING AT OXFORD. 


of half an lioiir, viz., that the Prince Rupert and my 
Lord Newcastle (but my Lord Newcastle was in no 
ways to blame, as I have heard) had suffered a most 
grievous defeat at Marstoii Moor, near to the city of 
York, at which defeat well-nigh the whole of the 
North-country was lost to the King. From that day 
I had small favor from Master Rector. But with 
this 1 concerned myself but little. 

During the vacation, that is about the space of three 
months and more, from July to October, I applied 
myself diligently to my books, though I did not neg- 
lect my military exercises; in them 1 was by this 
time somewhat proficient. Indeed, as having done 
actual service in war, I had an officer’s place among 
the troop which was raised by the University for the 
King, and myself taught the rudiments of the mili- 
tary art to the new-comers. And indeed there was 
but little recreation other than soldiering. 

There was much playing, indeed, with cards and 
dice in the guard-houses, but such things were never 
to my taste, nor indeed had I the gold-pieces which 
are a man’s best introduction to such places. But as 
for the sport that was followed outside the walls, 
Hshing and fowling, to wit, and the like enjoyments, 
it was hardly to be got. It was as like as not that he 
who went forth hoping to catch something should 
himself be caught. I do not call to mind, indeed, 
that I had any sport, save only fives play with a cer- 
tain Edward Wood, second son of Mistress Wood, of 
whom, as I have written above, my father rented a 
house in Oxford. The said Edward Wood was a 
portion ist, or, as it is sometimes named, a postmaster, 
of Merton College, and we were wont to use the fives 


OF THE PLAGUE AT OXFORD. 


65 


play in the garden, that lies on the south side of the 
chapel of the said college. At the' west end of this 
garden the wall has been built up higher than ordi- 
nary to serve this purpose, and the grass has been ex- 
changed for stone. Sorhetimes one or other of the 
young courtiers would join iis at our play. I know 
not whether I had pleasanter times than in this fives 
court. Edward Wood did not tarry long at Merton 
College, being promoted to a scholarship at Trinity 
College, blit I was privileged to use the place till the 
very end of my sojourn in Oxford. 

At the beginning of the next term there fell upon 
the city of Oxford a dreadful calamity, that is to sa}^, 
a fire, so great as had not been known within the 
memory of living man. It is said, indeed, that, con- 
sidering the shortness of the time wherein it burned, 
it exceeded in damage all fires that had before been 
in England. It began on Sunday, the eighth day of 
October, about two of the clock in the afternoon, in a 
little poor house on the south side of Thames Street 
(which leads from the North Gate to the East Bridge). 
The wind blew from the north, and being very high 
greatly increased the damage, so that much of the 
city that was built to the south of Thames Street was 
consumed. On the other hand it is to be remem- 
bered that no hall, or college, or church, or magazine 
foi’ ammunition or victuals, was consumed. As for 
the cause of this conflagration, there was much diver- 
sity of opinion. It was to be expected that it should 
be laid to the account of the Parliament soldiers, of 
whom there was a body at Abingdon town, not more 
than three miles distant from Oxford. Indeed, one 
of their officers, a Major Bnrne by name, had, it was 
5 


66 


WITH THE KING AT OXFORD. 


said, threatened this very thing against the city. He 
was reported to have cried out, If I cannot burn all 
Oxford, yet will I burn so much as I can.” It was 
allowed also that the fire burst out in many places at 
once, and it could not therefore have been caused by 
an accident. Also the time of its breaking out was 
noted, which was two of the clock in the afternoon, 
when many of the citizens were at church, and so 
unable to attend to the speedy putting out of the 
fiames. For myself I take little heed of these things 
which would in any case have been said. On the 
other hand it is certain that the fire in the house in 
Thames Street came from a foot- soldier roasting a 
pig which he had stolen. Of the buildings that were 
consumed the most important were a printing-office 
and a house which had been newly set apart for the 
keeping of wills. 

The next year — to speak of calamities which be- 
fell the city — when the summer began to draw on, 
there befell a great sickness of the plague. It may 
be said that during the whole time, from the King’s 
first coming to Oxford to the surrender of the city, 
the distemper never altogether departed, seeming to 
sleep during the cold weather, but waking again and 
raging, now less, now more, when the spring returned. 
Kor was this to be wondered at. For it was with 
Oxford as it was with the city of Athens in the 
Peloponnesian War, of which Thucydides has writ- 
ten. ’Twas grievously overcrowded ; for there lodged 
therein the King and his court and officers of the 
Government and the army, to the number, not al- 
ways, indeed, but sometimes, of ten thousand and 
more, and many traders that came thither for the 


OF THE PLAGUE AT OXFORD. 


67 


sake of trading, buying, and selling, and not a few of 
the King’s party that sought shelter within the walls, 
as indeed did rny mother and sister. Of scholars, 
indeed there were but few, the university being then 
changed into a garrison town. Nevertheless, the 
number of souls in the city must have been doubled 
and more ; and these also confined within a very nar- 
row space, for it was not possible to live without the 
walls for fear of the enemy. 

About April, therefore, in this year (which is the 
year 1645), the plague beginning to increase, the 
councillor of the city issued a proclamation concern- 
ing it. If any house was suspected of the plague it 
was commanded to be shut up, and all the persons 
within it commanded to be kept in the house till or- 
ders should be given for opening of it again. Also 
the house was to be marked with a red cross, and 
•‘The Lord Have Mercy Upon Us” writ in capital 
letters. And to each house so shut up there was ap- 
pointed a watchman to see that none went in or out, 
and to fetch such necessaries as they might have need 
of. These watchmen carried a white staff, and took 
an oath that they would perform their duty faithful- 
ly. It was not an office to be desired, but if a man 
was elected thereto he had no choice but to take it. 
But the most dreadful thing in this visitation was 
the order that was kept concerning the burial of the 
dead. There went carts about (’tis a most surprising 
thing that they who drove the carts and they who 
fetched the dead bodies out of the houses, for the 
most part escaped the disease), after ten of the clock 
at night, and carried away the corpses of such as had 
died during the day. Nor was it permitted that 


68 


WITH THE KING AT OXFORD. 


these should be buried in the church -yards of the 
city, but great pits were dug in such places as could 
be found that were farthest removed from the hab- 
itations of man. There were the dead heaped to- 
gethei-, without coffin, ay, and often without shroud, 
and after a service, which a chaplain would make as 
short and say as speedily as he could, so left. I know 
not whether the war brought any worse horror than 
this. 

In the colleges none, I think, were affected, none 
certainly perished. But in those parts of the town 
that lie by the river where the poorer sort do dwell 
many died. Yet the mortality was never so great 
that there prevailed any great and general terror. 
The ministers of religion also, and the physicians, 
of whom there was then in Oxford a greater number 
than ordinary, did not desert their places; and it is 
always, I have heard, to be noted that where these 
are steadfast to their duty, they infect others, if I 
may so speak, with their courage, to the great advan- 
tage of the whole State. But whether they that were 
stricken by this sickness profited much by the help 
of the physicians is somewhat to be doubted. I have 
it from one who has had much experience of the 
plague, both here and in foreign parts, especially 
among the Turks, where it is to be found almost 
every year, that the course of the distemper is such 
that at its first coming the aid of the physicians can 
recover none, or at the best veiy few ; and that when 
its first violence is spent, ’tis an even chance with 
them ; and that afterwards, ’tis but very few that 
die under their hands. It is certainly true that they 
would use a great variety of remedies, from wdiich 


OP THE PLAGUE AT OXFORD. 


69 


may be gathered that such as prospered under their 
hands were saved by Nature rather than by art. Of 
these remedies one was sold iniicli among the peo- 
ple, but the men of science made but small account 
of it. It was said to have been given to King Hen- 
ry YIII. by a very learned physician of his time. 
For curiosity’s sake I have here written it down ; 

A handful of elder leares; a handful of red hramUe learns. 
Stamp and strain them through a fine cloth with a quart of white 
wine ; ihen take a quantity of ginger. Mingle these together, and 
take a spoonful of the mixture, and you shall he safe for twenty - 
four days. 

This then was the prophylactic; but the remedy 
was this : 

The water of Scabius, a spoonful ; the water of Betany, a spoon- 
ful; of fine treacle, a quantity. This shall put out the venom, by 
the grace of God. 

The last clause does save it, to my mind. “ The 
grace of God ” can give potency to plain water. In- 
deed, I know not whether there be anything that is 
to be preferred to this. So at least some of the wise 
men will have it. 

There needed not, indeed, either fire or plague to 
make all hearts dull and cheerless ; all, I should say, 
that were well disposed to tlie King, for he had ene- 
mies even here. Of all the gayety and show that 
had adorned the city after his Majesty’s first coming 
there was but little left. The Queen and her ladies 
had departed to Exeter, in which city was born, in 
this same year, the Princess Henrietta. Of the no- 
bles and gentlemen that had come with the King, or 
flowed to him afterwards, many were dead, for his 
Majesty was most unfortunate in the loss of friends; 


70 WITH THE KING AT OXFORD. 

many had been taken prisoners, and they that re- 
mained were sadly shorn of their means. Hence it 
was but the name and shadow of a court that sur- 
rounded the King; of its pomp and glory, its splen- 
dor and riches, nothing was left. To the colleges 
little remained save that which could not be alien- 
ated. Their plate they had given up to the King’s 
service, and it was now melted into money which 
had long since been spent ; in some places the very 
libraries were dissipated. As for learning, its voice 
was well-nigh silenced. The very schools had passed 
from their original use, and were filled with stores 
of ammunition and arms. Over everything there 
hung the cloud of ill-fortune and ill-success. ’Twas 
a university to which none came to learn (I do sup- 
pose that from the time at which I came to Oxford 
till the surrender of the city there were matriculat- 
ed, that is to say, entered the university, scarce two 
score), and a court that lacked both power and mag- 
nificence, and a camp from which had departed all 
hope of victory. 

When this year (I speak of the year academical, 
which runs from October to July) was drawing to an 
end there happened great events, great both for the 
nation and for me, of which I will now proceed to 
write. 


BEFORE NASEBY. 


71 


CHAPTER IX. 

BEFORE NASEBY. 

Sitting in my chamber in the month of June, in 
the year 164:5 — I remember that it was St. Barnabas’ 
Day, and that Master Chalfont, who was sub-rector 
of Lincoln College, had preached that morning at St. 
Mary’s Church — comes a knock at my outer door, 
which I had shut, fearing hinderances to my study ; 
for in those days there was scarce a place in the 
whole kingdom less given to study than Oxford. At 
the first I heeded it not ; for what would it have prof- 
ited, having shut the door, to open it on the first oc- 
casion ? But when the knocking grew more urgent 
I called through the door, “ Who knocks ?” to which 
came an answer in a voice that I seemed to know. 
Open, Master Philip, ’tis an urgent matter.” When 
I heard this “ Master Philip,” I understood that the 
voice was of John Talboys, that was a trooper in my 
father’s regiment, and born, too, of a family that had 
been servants, ay, and friends, to ours for many gen- 
erations, and was in great trust with him. So I opened 
the door in no small trepidation ; but when I saw 
the good fellow’s face I knew that it was no ill-tid- 
ings that he brought. “ What news, John, from the 
army ? How fares it with my father?” 

“ Your father was well when I left him yesterday 
morning : but take this letter, it will tell you more 
than any words of mine.” 


72 


WITH THE KING AT OXFORD. 


So I took the letter, which was written on a scrap 
of paper about the bigness of a mulberry-leaf, for the 
conveiiieuce of hiding if occasion arose; or, it might 
be, of swallowing, if the hiding could not be other- 
wise contrived. It ran thus : 

''My dear son Philip^ — It irks me much to draio you away yet 
again from your studies, yet it is, to my mind, a plain necessity so 
to do. Hear noio the cause, which I will put as shortly as it is pos- 
sible, lest, haply, this icriting should fall under less friendly eyes 
than yours, ’ Tis plain to me, from signs that I see, that a great 
battle will be fought within a few days, by which the King's cause 
shall be made or marred ; and I hold that every man who can strike 
a blow for his sacred Majesty, and is not kept away by some necessi- 
ty, should be here to do his duty. Of myself I speak not, save only 
that I woxdd fain have you with me. Do all your diligence, then, 
to come, John Talboys, the bearer of this epistle, and not unknown 
to you, will be your guide, Ood keep you. 

' ' Tour loving Father, 

‘ ‘ Philip Dashwood, 

"Writ at Daintree, in the county of No fthampton, the tenth day 
of June, at four of the clock before noon." 

“Well, John,” I said, when I had read this letter, 
“ what say you to all this ? But stay ” — for when I 
looked at him I saw that he was pale and weary, and, 
had he been less stalwart and strong, almost like to 
faint — “speak not till I fetch you somewhat.” 

With that I ran out of college and fetched in a 
flagon of ale and a manchet of bread, with some 
cheese, from the Maidenhead tavern, for the buttery 
was not yet open, it being not yet noon. It was 
against law to fetch such things from without, and I 
was commonly law-abiding, but the need was urgent. 
Therefore I hesitated not to transgress, and to hide 
my transgression also under xsxf academic habili- 
ments, the scholars’ gown having full sleeves that are 


BEFORE I^ASEBY. 


73 


not ill-contrived on occasion to conceal a flagon or 
the like. 

I perceived John’s eyes glitter when he saw the 
meat and drink; and when he had taken a deep 
draught of the ale, and a few mouthfuls of the bread, 
he said, 

“ This is right welcome, Master Philip. I have not 
had bit nor sup since 1 left the King’s army at Dain- 
tree yesterday morning about five of the clock, save 
only a crust of bread which a good parson gave me 
at Banbury yesterday evening. The good man had 
nothing better for himself, for the Parliament men 
had stripped him bare. I know not when I have 
tasted better ale than this.” 

But this was John’s fancy, bred, I take it, of his 
long fasting. It was but poor drink, and nothing to 
be compared with that of our own buttery. 

“ And now, sir,” he went on, “for business. My 
good master, the colonel, wants you to bear him com- 
pany. lie read me the letter after he had written it, 
so that if there came occasion to destroy the paper I 
might give its substance by word of mouth. It is not 
the easiest thing in the woi-ld to make our way hence 
to the King; but I have a good hope that we shall. 
I know every by-road and hiding-place in the coun- 
try, and ’tis hard if I contrive not to give the slip>to 
these crop-eared, psalm-singing gentry. must needs 
give my horse a rest, and you will need some time for 
your making yourself ready. What say you to ten of 
the clock this night for our setting out ? We shall 
pass the worst of the country while it is still dark.” 

“But tell me, John,” I said, “is it going well 
with the King ?” 


74 


WITH THE KING AT OXFORD. 


“ ’Tis not,” he answered, for a common man to 
speak ; but, as you ask, I will say that I like not the 
‘aspect of affairs. We have men, though not so many 
as they ; the gentlefolk are mostly with us, but the 
commonalty ai*e greatly against us. But ’tis counsel 
that we chiefly lack. The Prince Rupert is in great 
authority ; and as lie has lost us already one battle, 
so, I misdoubt me, he will lose us another. And I 
hear of one Cromwell, a brewer by trade, they say, 
that is a mighty dangerous enemy. It was he that 
turned the battle against the King at Marston Moor, 
and, if I err not, we shall hear of him again. And 
now I will get some sleep, if I can, and at ten of the 
clock to-night, at the North Gate, I shall reckon to 
see you.” 

I had little preparation to make. Leave of ab- 
sence from the rector I judged it better to take rath- 
er than to ask. My good beast Spot was, I knew, at 
my service when I should need him, for it had been 
so arranged, and my accoutrements I kept, not in 
my chamber at college, but at the tavern where Spot 
was stabled. So, after I had seen that my horse and 
arms should be ready for me at the time appointed, I 
had little else to do than make my farewells to my 
friends. First I went to Master Webberley, who was, 
as I have said, well affected to the King, and told him 
my purpose. Of this he greatly approved, and gave 
me his blessing, and, as a token of his good-will, a 
flask of sherry sack. We agreed that when inquiry 
of my absence should be made, he should answer that 
I had been called away by an urgent demand from 
my father that would not brook delay. It fell out 
by great good-luck that for the day there was none 


BEFORE NASEBY. 


75 


other fellow within the college but Master Webberley, 
the others having gone to see an estate that the col- 
lege possesses near to this city. Nor did I go back 
to the college after taking leave of him, fearing lest 
some one should stay me and ask questions, but 
passed the remainder of the day with my mother 
and sister. My dear mother was sorely divided be- 
tween two desires ; for while she would gladly have 
kept me with her, she did also greatly wish that I 
should be with my father, believing that we should 
be safer together. Yet, though she was convinced of 
this, and, indeed, reckoned the chance higher than it 
deserved, yet it troubled her much to think that we 
should both be running into the same danger at the 
same time. Her poor heart was sadly distracted this 
way and that. This is the unhappiness of women 
that they have ever a choice, though, indeed, it is a 
choice but in name only, between evils of which they 
cannot say which is the more to be dreaded or the 
worse to bear. My mother gave me many messages, 
and would have laden me and my horse beyond all pos- 
sibility of moving with good things, an I had not re- 
fused them. She seemed to think that I had a wag- 
on at the least to follow me, carrying what I might 
want. I remember her great concern when I told 
her that I should sleep on the ground in my cloak. 
She was urgent with me that I should take a mat- 
tress with me, and would have given me one off her 
own bed. I had no small difficulty to persuade her 
that the thing was impossible. After that I was 
content to tell her something less than the whole 
truth about our life in the camp ; for she fol- 
lowed me beyond the door, bidding me never to 


76 


WITH THE ItiNG AT OXFORD. 


put on clean linen that had not been first aired at 
the fire. 

It favored us much that the night was dark as 
could well be at midsummer, with such a roaring of 
the wind, which was more than commonly stormy 
for that season of the year, that the noise of our 
horses’ hoofs could scarcely have been heard at twen- 
ty yards’ distance. We journeyed, too, by green lanes 
and by-ways, whicli John Talboys knew marvellous- 
ly well, rather than by high-roads. Nevertheless, we 
did not draw rein, save for a few minutes’ breath- 
ing space, till we came to Brackley, which is a small 
market-town in the county of Northampton, lying 
south by west of Banbury. We halted about half a 
mile short of the town, where was a farm-house that 
had been deserted during the present troubles. We 
bestowed ourselves and our horses in a barn, and laid 
ourselves down to sleep, Talboys first taking some 
whiffs of tobacco, a herb in which he professes to find 
much comfort. Trouble not yourself. Master Phil- 
ip,” he said before he slept, to wake over early ; 
for we must be content to pass the day here, and that 
without company, if we would not fall into the hands 
of our enemies.” I verily believe that it was noon 
before I awoke ; for I was much wearied hj my ride, 
having been pent up in the city for nearly a twelve- 
month, and my legs never once across a horse’s 
back. 

I had just roused myself, and was looking about 
me, half dazed, as a man will sometimes be with 
a long slumber, when I heard a whistle, to which 
straightway John whistles an answer. Thereupon 
an old man thrusts his head in at the door, and pres- 


BEFORE NASEBY. 


77 


ently follows with his whole body. He was a parson, 
a man, I should say, of sixty or thereabouts, his hair 
quite white, his face ruddy, with as merry a look in 
his eyes as ever man had. He had a priest’s cloak 
on him, which he threw olf so soon as he came within 
the door. 

Now beshrew this cloak,” he said, with a laugh ; 
‘^’tis cumbrous wear for a midsummer day; but ’tis 
a rare thing if one has aught to hide ; better than a 
college gown ; eh, Master Scholar ?” Then we saw 
that he had something in his hand wrapped in a nap- 
kin, which, when he had unfolded, we saw a roasted 
capon. 

“ Ah !” he said, “ if the King had had such politi- 
cians about him as I am, he had been better served. 
Hear now how you have come by your dinner. My 
good house-keeper, Dorothy Leggats, serves me up 
this capon, one of a couple that a neighbor brought 
me yesterday. Now an I had told her that I needed 
it for you, first there would have been loud complain- 
ings, for the good woman believes in her heart that 
I starve myself; then she would have gone ^ clack, 
clack ’ over the whole village, for the good woman 
can no more keep a secret than a sieve can hold 
water. So, says I, rubbing my hands, ^ That is a 
goodly sight for a hungry man, Dorothy, but I have 
business on hand, affairs of State, you understand, and 
I must not be disturbed for three hours at the least. 
So if any one come you must say that the parson 
has shut himself in his chamber, and cannot be spo- 
ken with.’ So I lock the door on hei*, and slip out 
of the window, which, by good-fortune, is near the 
road, and here I am.” 


78 


WITH THE KING AT OXFORD. 


‘‘We thank you much, sir,” I said, “but where 
shall you get your own dinner ?” 

“ Nay,” answered the good man, “let me care for 
that. ’Tis little that I can do for his Majesty, and I 
should be a bad subject if I should think of myself 
when there are two stout soldiers in need, that can 
strike a blow for him, which my cloth forbids me to 
do. I shall make my Friday fast to-day, and give 
myself indulgence for flesh and fowl, if such fall in 
my way, when Friday itself shall come.” 

“ Ah ! Master Parson,” said John, “ I reckon that 
you fast on other days than Friday. But come, take 
a morsel with us, for there is more than enough for 
us two.” 

We had some trouble to persuade him, but at the 
last he consented to share with us; and a right jovi- 
al meal we had, though we had nothing stronger to 
drink than a pitcher of water that John had drawn 
from the well in the farm-yard the night before. The 
good parson stayed talking with us till, as he said, his 
time was out. He had been at Oxford, at St.John’s 
College, about forty years before, when the Arch- 
bishop of Canterbury, whom the Parliament so barba- 
rously put to deatii, was his tutor. Of liim he had 
many things to say, of which I will here set down 
one: “They did him an ill turn that brought him 
to court, and put him in the way of preferment and 
of offlce in the State. It had been well for him as 
for the realm also if he had had no higher place than 
to be president of his college. Learning never had 
a more duteous son nor the King a worse counsellor.” 

When it was time for the good man to go he was 
much concerned to part from us. “Were I ten 


BEFORE NASEBY. 


79 


years younger,” said he, ‘‘I would ride with you, 
cloth or no cloth. There are days when it may be 
said, ‘ Let him that hath no sword sell his cloak and 
buy one,’ though, to speak the truth, I could not buy 
much with this of mine, so threadbare is it and rag- 
ged. But an old man like me is best at home; I 
can pray for his Majesty in the church so long as 
they suffer me to keep it, and when they turn me 
out, if they extinguish my voice, still my thouglits 
will be free. And now, my sons, take my blessing.” 

So he blessed us and went his way. We two lay 
hiding till it grew dark, and then setting out, arrived 
without misadventure at Burrough Hill, where the 
King lay. We saw the light of Sir Thomas Fair- 
fax’s camp at Kislingbury on our right hand, and 
once were constrained to hide ourselves in a thicket, 
so near came some of the enemy’s horsemen. But 
scarce had we come to his Majesty’s camp (’twas 
about four of the clock in the morning) when there 
comes an order that the army should march, the 
King proposing to go towards Newark, where he had 
a strong garrison, with whom, as with other forces 
which he expected, he could strengthen himself. It 
had been well had he done so. So, accordingly, we 
set fire to the huts and departed, making a short stage 
to Market Harborough, where we rested that night, 
that is to say the van of the army, for the rear was 
at Naseby, his Majesty himself sleeping at Lubben- 
ham, which lies between the two. I had gone to bed 
betimes, being not a little wearied with my journey, 
having ridden two nights. (It is commonly thought 
among soldiers that journeying will weary a man 
by night more than by day, for all that he may so 


80 


WITH THE KING AT OXFORD. 


shun the heat, it being against nature to wake at siicli 
hours.) I had scarce slept an hour (to me it seemed 
but five minutes, so weary was I with sleep) wlien 
there comes an alarrp, the rear coming in with no 
small confusion from Naseby, where the Parliament 
men had suddenly fallen upon them, and, taking 
some prisoners, liad driven the rest northward. I 
perceived that there was small hope of sleep that 
night, and so rose and made ready for what might 
happen. I was quartered with my father (whom his 
Majesty would always have near him) in a house 
in the viiiage, and coming out into the street, saw 
the King set out for Harborough, where the Prince 
Rupert lay, my father riding with him in the car- 
riage. This was about an hour before midnight. 
In the space of three hours or thereabouts my father 
comes back. • There was a cloud upon his face, and 
I could see that he was ill-pleased. “We are re- 
solved to fight,” says he, “ and ’twill be a marvel if 
we are not well beaten. I was at the council by his 
Majesty’s favor, and heard the debate, though it did 
not become one of my station to thrust in my voice. 
The greater part were urgent for battle, the Prince 
being especially vehement. Reason for fighting 
heard I none from him or from any other; but his 
Highness’s pride was affronted because the Parlia- 
ment men had fallen upon the King’s arln3^ They 
must teach the Roundheads, forsooth, to bear them- 
selves more modestly, as if that was good reason for 
putting the whole future of the realm upon the cast 
of a die. For ’tis nothing less than that, son Philip. 
If we be beaten to-day, and I fear much that we 
shall, there is an end to the King’s cause. The King 


OF NASEBY FIGHT. 


81 


was for delay and gathering his forces together, but 
was overborne, and gave way, as indeed it is too 
much his failing to do, to these hot-blooded young- 
sters, who think that war is but a matter of hard 
blows. But come, we must be moving; the army is 
to be drawn together about a mile south from Har- 
borough.” 


CHAPTER X. 

OF NASEBY FIGHT. 

It was about five of the clock in the morning, on 
Saturday, the fourteenth day of June, that the draw- 
ing up of the King’s army was finished. In the cen- 
tre was my Lord Astley with about two thousand 
five hundred foot; on the right the Prince Kupert 
with about two thousand horse ; and on the left Sir 
Marmaduke Langdale with the northern horse, about 
sixteen hundred in all. In the reserves were about 
thirteen hundred, horse and foot together; so that 
there were in all scarce eight thousand, the horse 
and foot being well-nigh equal in number. 

About eight of the clock in the morning comes a 
rumor that the enemy had retired. Thereupon the 
scout-master is sent out, and certain horsemen with 
him, among whom were John Talboys and I, to make 
further discovery. We rode about two miles and a 
half, or it may be three, and saw notliing. Then 
said the scout-master,^^ This report is manifestly true; 
tliese rascals are in great fear of us, and have fied.” 
Thereupon he turned back with his company to car- 
ry the tidings to the King. Then says John Talboys 
6 


82 


WITH THE KING AT OXFORD. 


to me, I take it Master Scout-master has scarce gone 
far enough. Do you see yonder height ? What say 
you to going thither? If we can see nothing tliere, 
then ’tis plain that they are indeed gone.” 

We rode as he had said, and no sooner were we 
gotten to the top of the hill than we saw the enemy 
almost under our feet. So close were we to them 
that a gunner aimed a small cannon that he had at 
us, and we could hear the bullet pass over our heads. 

We have seen enough,” says John ; “ let us go back.” 

Thereupon we galloped back, and found that the 
Prince had moved forward some horsemen and mus- 
keteers, as thinking that the report of the eneiny’s 
retreat, which, indeed, had been in some sort con- 
firmed by the scout-master, was true. We told him 
what we had seen, but he seemed to be persuaded in 
his mind that the enemy were now reti*eating. So 
he says to me, Hide to my Lord Astley and tell him 
to come forward with all the haste he can, if he would 
not have the enemy escape us; and you,” he said, 
turning to John Talboys, “carry the same words to 
Sir Marmaduke.” It was not for me to question 
his bidding, so I rode with all the speed I could, and 
delivered the message to my Lord Astley, who, noth- 
ing questioning, for the Prince being in the van could 
not but know the truth, gave orders to advance with 
all speed. 

When we came to the hill-top (the same at which 
the scout-master had halted) we saw, I being in the 
following of my Lord Astley, the Prince Rupei’t in 
the level ground below us, and on the brow of the 
hill beyond, to which John Talboys and I had rid- 
den, the army of the Parliament. These last drew 


OF NASEBY FIGHT. 


83 


back so soon as we came into their view — it was but 
a hundred yards or so — the better to hide themselves 
and their plans ; but we, or at the least some of us, 
imagined that they fled. Thereupon we moved on 
the faster, so 'fast indeed that we left beliind much 
of our ordnance. Indeed, it is scarce to be believed 
how all through the day we continually put ourselves 
at a disadvantage. 

The Prince Rupert began the battle, charging the 
enemy’s left wing. I saw him and his horsemen gal- 
lop up the slope of the hill past some thick hedges, 
from which came forth a Are of musketry (the 
hedges being lined with dragoons on foot) which 
emptied some saddles, yet not so many as to check 
them. More of the Prince’s doings I could not see, 
he passing from our view when he had got to the 
brow of the hill ; but I heard that he broke the ene- 
my’s left wing, scattering them all .ways, and then 
rode on as if he would have taken the baggage. ’Tis 
said that the captain of the baggage guard took him 
for Sir Thomas Fairfax, he wearing a red Spanish 
cloak after his lordship’s fashion, and went to him, 
hat in hand, and asked, “How goes the day?” think- 
ing that he was the general ; and that thereupon the 
Prince asked whether they would have quarter, which 
they refused, and gave him a volley instead, which 
beat him and his horsemen off. On the other wing 
the Parliament men did not wait for our coming, but 
charged Sir Marmaduke Langdale’s horse, taking ad- 
vantage of the ground, and to such a purpose that, 
after some smart blows given and taken, our horse- 
men were beaten off, and, indeed, fought no more 
that day. 


84 


WITH THE KING AT OXFORD, 


Nevertheless, it seemed for a while as if the day 
would go well for us, for the main body of our foot 
charging against the main body of theirs did great 
execution upon them. The lines tired but one vol- 
ley upon each other ; nor did either do much damage, 
aiming too high, as young soldiers are wont to do, and 
then came to swords and the butt-ends of their mus- 
kets. I do protest that however much I might be 
minded to magnify myself and my deeds, I could 
by no means tell what I did that day. I know only 
this that I found my sword somewhat hacked and 
some shrewd cuts in my buff-coat, but wound had I 
none save a bruise upon the fore part of the left shoul- 
der from a musket bullet that by great happiness had 
spent itself before ever it came near to me. But alto- 
gether we used our swords and muskets to such good 
purpose that the enemy fled, though the officers, for 
the most part, and especially they that had the colors, 
stood bravely to their posts. The victory being, as 
we judged, thus assured, my Lord Astley bethought 
him whether he could not succor the left wing, 
which the King also, who was with his guards in the 
reserve, was making ready to support in their need. 
Whereupon he sends me witli this message to the 
King: “Does your Majesty need help?” This I 
was on the point to deliver, his Majesty being at the 
head of his guards, and preparing to charge, when I 
saw my Lord Carnworth, who was riding next to the 
King, lay his hand upon his bridle ; the next moment 
my lord cried out with a great oath, “ Will you go 
upon your death in an instant?” and so saying, turned 
the King’s horse round. After this the command 
was given, “ March to the right.” Now this march- 


OF NASEBY FIGHT. 


85 


ing to the right led them away both from helping 
their own and from charging the enemy. In whose 
voice it was given I cannot affirm, bat ’tis certain 
that it was too readily obeyed. When my father, who 
was setting the second line of the guards in order, 
saw what was doing, he rode with all the speed of 
his horse to the King, and said, “ Pardon me, sir, but 
it is ruin absolute if we leave the field. in this fash- 
ion.” Then the King, who here again had yielded 
against his will and better judgment to the worse 
counsel, cried with a loud voice, “ Stand !” But 
though some obeyed this command, yet for the great- 
er part it was too late. Almost at the instant of the 
King’s speaking came a musket-shot from the ene- 
my’s ranks and wounded my father, entering by the 
left arm, which it broke, and lodging in his shoulder. 
It was fired from close at hand, but by whom I saw 
not. I have always thanked God for this, for else I 
had hated the man who fired, though he did but his 
duty to his masters. My father reeled in his saddle 
and was like to have fallen, but John Talboys, riding 
by him, held him up. The next moment my good 
beast falls dead with a shot that, passing my leg so 
close that it tore the leather of my boot, entered be- 
hind his foreleg, and so passed, I take it, to his heart. 
Certain it is that he fell and never stirred more. The 
King was much concerned to see my father hurt (he 
had ever a tender lieart for his friends, though it 
must be confessed that he could desert them when 
occasion demanded), and said to John Talboys, “ Car- 
ry Colonel Dashwood to as safe a place as you can 
find.” Thereupon they rode off at a fair pace, my 
father having recovered somewhat from the first 


WITH THE KING AT OXFORD. 


shock of his wound, I following as best I could on 
foot. And with this ends all that I saw of the bat- 
tle of Naseby. The time was then, as near as 1 could 
reckon, about noon. 

How General Cromwell fell upon the main body 
of the King’s army, and, Sir Thomas Fairfax’s re- 
serves coming up at the same time, brake it in pieces, 
is known to all. The Prince came back from his idle 
seeking for plunder, and would have rallied them 
that remained, but could avail nothing. It is to be 
noted, indeed, that the King’s men both at this and at 
other times lacked the steadfastness of their enemies, 
who would stay obstinately in their place, even when 
they were overborne by greater strength, and being 
driven back would rally again. But these things the 
King’s men would never do ; so that when they gain- 
ed a victory, it was not completed for want of a sec- 
ond charge, and when they suffered defeat, it was a 
disaster beyond all remedy. I count it, indeed, no 
small proof of this defect, that of our army more 
than a half suffered themselves to be taken prisoners, 
who might surely have escaped, or, it may be, restored 
the day, had they only had the heart to rally to each 
other. As for ourselves, we had in this respect great 
good-fortune, which came about in this way. When 
the horsemen of the Parliament’s army were riding 
about the field, gathering in the prisoners. Sir Thomas 
Fairfax comes upon us where we were, my father 
lying upon the ground and John Talboys and I sit- 
ting on either side. There was some acquaintance, 
or rather friendship, between the general and my 
father, they having met at the Court, to which my 
father would sometimes go, and there talking much 


OF NASEBY FIGHT. 


87 


together of military affairs, for which my lord had 
had, from a boy,- a very singular liking. When he 
saw my father, and knew who he was, he showed in 
his face a great concern, and said, ‘‘This is a sorry 
sight. Master Dashwood, to behold you thus lying 
here. Indeed it is the curse of this most hateful 
war that there is a double bitterness even in victory. 
They who conquer must always lament their friends 
that have fallen in the battle, but now we must needs 
lament our enemies also, who are indeed often our 
friends by old acquaintance and kindness. But say, 
can I do aught for you now?” 

“ Sir,” said my father, “ I doubt not that this bul- 
let has sped me beyond all hope of recovery. But 
if, as may be, I have yet a few days to live, I would 
fain spend them elsewhere than in a prison. My 
son here is a scholar of Oxford, whom I would gladly 
send back to his books, now that the King’s cause is 
lost beyond repair, as I doubt not that it is. And I 
would gladly have my good friend John Talboys 
here to take care of me till I die. Can you give me 
a pass that shall keep us from the prison ?” 

“ You shall have it,” said the general, “ having first 
promised, as I doubt not you are ready to do, that 
you will not for the space of three years bear arms 
against the Parliament.” 

“ 1 promise,” said my father, “ and that the more 
readily, knowing that I shall never bear arms again.” 

John Talboys and I also promised. Therefore the 
general gave to each of us a pass in these words, the 
name only being changed : 

‘‘ Suf 67 ^ Philip Dashwood the elder ^ late of the 
King's army^ who has pi^oinised not to hear arms 


88 


WITH THE KING AT OXFORD. 


against the Parliament for the space of three years 
from this date^ to pass whithersoever he willP 
This was about three of the clock in the afternoon, 
the battle having been then two hours ended. 


CHAPTER XL 

AFTER NASEBY. 

At the edge of Naseby Field, somewhere, if my 
memory serves me, near to the north-east corner, 
there was a small hollow, used in former times for 
digging of clay or gravel, but then overgrown with 
trees. It was a steep descent all round, and fenced 
with a paling, save in one place only, where was — or, 
I should rather say, had been — a road (for now the 
bushes almost covered it), by which the carts had 
been used to go down for loading of the stuff. Thith- 
er John Talboys and I carried my father, purposing 
to find such shelter for him for the night as the place 
could give, for the air was somewhat cold and nip- 
ping, as it is wont to be in these counties of the Mid- 
lands up to midsummer — yea, and past it. We had 
but poor provision, especially for one that was wound- 
ed, as we could not but fear, to the death. Yet with 
our horsemen’s cloaks on some dried grass, of which 
we found abundance, and the saddle from my poor 
beast Spot for a pillow, we made a passable bed. 
“ ’Tis the very lap of luxury,” said my dear father, a 
true soldier in every way, and in none more than in 
that which St. Paul will have to be a soldier’s special 
virtue, that he can bear hardness. For food we had 


AFTER NASEBY. 


89 


some eggs hard boiled and the half of a loaf of bread, 
and some salted pork. These were of Jack Talboys’s 
providing. He was an old campaigner, and would as 
lief forget his provision of food as his musket. For 
myself, I had had no such forethought, and brought 
nothing to the common stock but the flask of sherry 
sack which my good friendMasterWebberley pressed 
upon me when I bade him farewell. Truly, I blessed 
him for his forethought, for all that my father could 
swallow was now and then a morsel of bread sopped 
in the wine. It was plain to be seen that the hollow 
was used as a camping-place by gypsies and the like, 
for there was a hearth where a fire had been, with 
great stones about it. I too would fain have light- 
ed a fire, for the night, as I have said, was chill, 
and my fatlier, for loss of blood and stiffness of 
his wounds, lacked warmth, but Talboys would not 
have it. 

There be worse things than cold,” said he ; “ ’tis 
not the first time that I have passed the night on the 
field of battle, and I liked it worse than the fighting. 
There be evil creatures about, I warrant you. The 
birds that haunt such places are no doves, but kites 
and carrion-crows, and it would be well they should 
not spy us. They have a keen sight of their own, and 
a bit of smoke would guide them finely.” So we were 
content to abide as we were. 

I purposed to watch that night, and would have 
sworn that by no chance should sleep overcome me. 
And yet I slept, and this, if I remember right, before 
midnight. As long as my father was awake ’twas 
easy enough to resist, but when he fell into a slum- 
ber, which lie did, as near as I could guess, about two 


90 


WITH THE KING AT OXFORD. 


hours after sunset, I soon began to nod for all my 
good resolutions and endeavors. 

’Twas just growing light the next morning when I 
was awaked by voices raised in anger hard by me. 
Lifting myself to my feet, which for stiffness I did 
with no small difficulty, I saw a stranger whom John 
Talboys held by the collar of his coat. He was a man 
of a thick-set frame, somewhat under the common 
stature, his face burned by the sun to a very dark 
brown that showed somewhat strangely against his 
light, yellow hair, and eyes as blue as ever I saw. He 
had not altogether the aspect of an Englishman, and 
liis speech, too, though ready enough, had a certain 
accent as of a foreigner. I liked not his look ; there 
was somewhat greedy and cunning, ay, and cruel, too, 
in his face, so far as one could see it for the thick 
beard that he wore over his chin and lips, ay, and up 
to his cheek-bones. 

“Nay, my good man,” I heard him say to John 
Talboys, “ I meant no harm. I am a poor peddler, 
and there is my pack, which I left above, to witness 
for me. And see, I have not a weapon, so that I 
could not do any damage if I would.” 

“’Tis fine talking,” said John Talboys, holding his 
coat firmly the while; “I warrant an I searched thee 
I should find a sharp knife, wherewith thou couldst 
shift in such warfare as thou wagest as well as with 
a sword or musket. Thou art a peddler, forsooth. 
Doubtless, and hast other trades, too, to eke out thy 
profits in these hard times. Didst think to find cus- 
tomers in this hollow, that thou earnest creeping into 
it? Is it thus that peddlers sell their goods, by put- 
ting their hands in men’s pockets ? As for thy pack, 


AFTER NASEBY. 


91 


I donbt not it is there* where thoii sayest it is, but I 
reckon that thou thoughtest to carry it aw’ay hence 
not lighter, but heavier; a ring, or a chain, or a ker- 
chief, or a pair of hose, or a doublet, so they were 
not stained by blood, would have served thy purpose 
well, and the better that thou payest no price for 
them save a thrust with thy knife, if a man be so set 
against all reason that he will not part with them to 
an honest trader like thee for naught.” 

‘‘ Nay, my good friend,” said the peddler, and I 
noticed that his speech was the less English-like the 
more haste he made to get out his words — “ nay, I 
am a Christian man, I have never harmed wounded 
men in my life.” 

“ Thou a Christian man !” answered John, with 
great scorn and contempt; ‘‘if thou art not Judas or 
Barabbas by name, may I never taste spiced ale at 
Christmas again. I know thy sort, the eagles — God 
save the mark ! I should say rather the carrion-crows 
that are gathered together wheresoever the carrion 
is. But it was ill-luck of thine that brought thee here 
to-day.” 

Therewith John shook him as a terrier dog may 
shake a rat ; but my father, who had been looking 
very steadfastly at the stranger, signified by his gest- 
ure that he should stay his hand. This done, he spake 
a few words in a tongue which I knew to be Ger- 
man, though I understood it not. The stranger grew 
pale, so far as his sun-burning would suffer him, and 
began to answer in the same language, but my father 
broke in upon him with, “ Nay, man, speak English, 
for I would have no secrets from these.” Thereupon 
the stranger said, “ Do not think too ill of me, hon- 


92 


WITH THE KING AT OXFORD. 


ored sir, if I follow for a livelihood such a trade as 
these bad times have left me. There is but a poor 
market nowadays for my wares, for the war has de- 
voured all the money in the land ; and if I eke out 
my living by the war, what harm 

“ Nay, friend,” said my father, ’tis not that war 
has come upon thee here, and spoiled thy trade. 
Thou followest the war, and thy trade is little else 
than a pretext and cloak for other things. Did I not 
see thee twenty years ago, and that many hundred 
miles hence, doing the same things, ay, and with the 
same excuse upon thy lips, that thou wast a poor 
trader whom the evil war-time had brought to ruin ? 
Dost remember that morning in Bohemia, and the 
pro vest- marshal’s man standing with his hand on thy 
collar, as John Talboys is standing now, ay, and anoth- 
er thing that is lacking here, a gallows hard by ?” 

The stranger joined his hands like one that made 
supplication, and cast a look behind him as if he ex- 
pected to see the gallows-tree again. 

Nay,” said my father, I cannot harm thee an I 
would. Thou knowest, I doubt not, that we are three 
of the party that had the worst of yesterday’s fight, 
and one of them wounded to the death. Bat thou 
wast full of promises that day thou wottest of. Hast 
a mind to redeem them now ?” 

“What can I do for you, honored sir?” the man 
answered, and I, who was looking hard at him, thought 
that he looked somewhat less of a knave than he did 
at the first. 

“ Tell us, then,” said my father, “ dost thou know 
of any family of charitable folk where a wounded 
man may bestow himself for a few days till he die ? 


AFTER NASEBY. 


93 


Thy peddler’s trade takes thee everywhere, and what- 
ever thy own ways, of which I will not judge, thou 
canst discern, doubtless, between the good and the 
bad.” 

The man stood musing a while, then he said to 
himself : 

‘‘ Ah ! I have it. Master Ellgood is the man, an 
his house be not too far. This Master Ellgood,” he 
went on, turning to my father, is a minister that 
was dispossessed of his place ; why I know not, for I 
do not understand such matters; but all the country- 
side is full of his goodness. He asks no questions of 
those whom he helps; ’tis enough that they are in 
need. I know him and his household well, though 
they be but poor customers to me — a white kerchief 
now and then, or a bit of gray silk, or some yards of 
stout, sad-colored stuff for the young madam’s dress 
— cheap things all of them, that do not pay for the 
carrying. But they that buy much have for the 
most part little to give ; and Master Ellgood’s folk, I 
doubt not, will serve thy turn better than any other 
in these parts. But ’tis a longish way from here — a 
matter of a mile and a half or more. The house 
stands in a wood ; it had been the abode of an old 
curmudgeon that had never a penny to spare for ped- 
dler or poor man ; ’twas a good day for the country- 
side when it came with a fair estate round it to Mas- 
ter Ellgood. Hone that needed help have ever failed 
to have it of his hands.” 

We will cast ourselves on the good man’s chari- 
ty,” said my father. “ I see in this matter the guid- 
ing of God (for ’tis not, I am assured, mere cliance 
that sent this stranger here to-day), and we cannot 


94 


WITH THE KING AT OXFORD. 


do better than follow it. But how shall I make the 
journey 

‘‘That,” said John Talboys, who never took his 
eyes from the peddler, as if he expected him to 
break out into some villany, “may easily be done; 
we will make a litter, and Master Philip and I will 
carry you.” 

And this we did, the peddler, who had cunning fin- 
gers of his own, helpmg. When the litter was fin- 
ished, the man said, “ An it please you I will be your 
guide, for the way is one that a stranger may readily 
miss; and I can take my turn of the carrying also. 
Only let me dispose my pack first in a safe place.” 

And he ran up out of the hollow more nimbly than 
I should have thought it possible for one of his years. 

When he returned, which was in the space of a 
quarter of an hour or thereabouts, we went on our 
way. ’Twas indeed a way from which it would have 
been easy to go astray, so many turns it had. At last, 
in about an hour’s time, for our burden caused us to 
travel but slowly, we came to the house. It stood by 
the side of a green lane that ran through a wood, 
seeming to be but rarely used by horse or man. In 
front was a garden, passing fair with fiowers — pinks 
and sweet-williams and a host of others; the house 
itself, too, was covered to the very eaves of the roof 
with roses and honeysuckle. And behind, though 
this I saw not at the time, but only came to know 
afterwards, was the fairest spot that ever I saw. 
First there was a level space of grass, so smooth and 
green and well kept that our fairest lawns in Oxford 
could scarce compare with it. ’Twas bounded on the 
right hand by a low wall, grown over with ivy, and 


AFTER NASEBY. 


95 


beyond this wall was a bank sloping down to as clear 
and fair a brook as ever babbled in man’s ear. On 
the left hand of the green was another wall, some six 
feet high, with fruit-trees of sundry kinds trained 
upon it. Beyond the green was a kitchen-garden, as 
neatly ordered with all manner of fruits and herbs 
as can be conceived, and behind this again a wood 
sloping upward to a lieight of three hundred feet and 
more, with the brook aforesaid leaping down through 
it, and making, as I found afterwards, the fairest 
pools that can be imagined. 

We rested the litter in the wood when first we 
came in sight of the house, and I went on alone to 
speak with the minister. ’Twas still early, scarce 
seven of the clock, if I remember, and the good^man 
was pacing to and fro in the garden before his house, 
with a book in his hand, from which he read aloud 
as he walked. I could hear that it was the book of 
Common Prayer. He was a man of taller stature 
than the common, but that sto:>ped forward some- 
what, and slender as a youth. I judged him then, 
seeing him for the first time, to have been about 
sixty-five years of age, but learned afterwards that I 
had reckoned to him ten years too many. Trouble 
had made him old before his time, at the least, in 
look, for in some matters he was, as will be seen, one 
of them that are ever young. ' There was such a 
sweetness in his face as passed all skill of writer’s 
pen or painter’s brush to picture ; his eyes large and 
gray ; his forehead broad, and wrinkled with many 
lines ; his cheeks somewhat thin, and tinged with a 
faint color that would not have ill-beseemed a maid- 
en’s face; his lips small but full, though not over- 


96 


WITH THE KING AT OXFORD. 


full (over-full lips, I have noted, seem to show a 
passionate temper, and over-thin a cruel) ; his hair, 
white as silver, fell almost to his shoulders. He 
looked, I do remember to have thought, as might an 
angel that had grown old. For dress he wore a cas- 
sock, tied about his middle with a woollen band of 
very rusty brown, and gray hose, and shoes with black 
buckles. On his head was a skull-cap of black vel- 
vet, no less worn than the cassock. 

I waited till he should see me, which, so diligently 
did he read his book, he did not till he paced up and 
down some live or six times. But when he had end- 
ed his reading of the Psalms for the morning — for 
it was with them that he was engaged — he looked 
up, saying aloud at the same time the last words of 
the seventy-second Psalm,* “ Thou leddest Thy peo- 
ple like sheep by the hand of Moses and Aaron 
and he added, “ O Lord, by whom wilt Thou lead 
them now? for leading they sorely want!” There- 
upon his eye fell on me, and I must confess that the 
good man started somewhat at the sight of me. Nor 
was this to be wondered at, for I had all the stains 
of battle upon me, even my face being splashed with 
blood. But this was but for a moment; he said, 
“Can I serve you, sir?” and when I had taken off 
my hat, “ Nay, be covered.” Then I set forth the 
whole matter to him, telling him of my father’s es- 
tate, and of myself, and at the last showing him Sir 
Thomas Fairfax’s paper, that he might feel the more 
secure in giving shelter to one that was not of the 


* The last of the Psalms appointed for morning service on the 
fifteenth day of the month. 


AFTER NASEBY. 


97 


winning side. niy son,” said the good man, 

when I showed him this last, “ I need no authority 
to shelter me sick and wounded. For that the twen- 
ty-fifth cliapter of Matthew* is authority sufficient. 
Yet this paper will be useful for the present distress, 
and save, may be, some strife and argument.” 

Tlien he called aloud, “ Cicely !” whereat there 
came running out of the cottage a maid of some 
seventeen years. She was of the middle height, or 
somewhat more, of a fair complexion, somewhat pale, 
but not with the paleness of one that is troubled with 
sickness, her eyes of as sweet a blue as I have ever 
seen in a woman’s face, her forehead low and some- 
what broad, and her hair, that was most smoothly 
ordered, without any of the’ tricks that young maids 
will sometimes affect, of a singular bright chestnut 
color. That I noted all these things at this first see- 
ing of her I cannot affirm, though I do believe that 
I did ; but of this I am assured, that I deemed her 
at first sight to be, as indeed she was, of as sweet and 
virginal an aspect as ever woman had. 

■ “ Cicely,” said the old man, “get ready the guest- 
chamber with all speed. ’Tis for a gentleman that 
has been sore wounded.” Then, turning to me, “ You 
had best go at once and bring your father. All things 
will be ready ere you come again.” 

So I hastened back to where I had left my father 
and John Talboys. And we two carried him to the 
cottage, and bestowed him, the old man and his 
daughter helping, in the guest-room, which was as 
clean and sweet a chamber as ever I saw, though but 


* The parable of the Judge, the sheep, and the goats. 

7 


98 


WITH THE KING AT OXFORD. 


humbly furnished. And Master Ellgood — for that 
was the old man’s name — dressed his wound, hav- 
ing, as it appeared, no little knowledge of these mat- 
ters. 

“ To find the bullet,” he said, passes my little 
skill, and yet it should be found. Haply we can 
get Master Parker from Leicester, that is the most 
learned surgeon in these parts. Meanwhile we will 
give your father such ease and comfort as we may.” 

I was for going without delay to Leicester, but 
Master Ellgood w'ould not suffer it. know so 
much,” said he, of surgery that I am assured that 
in your father’s present state no man, be he the skil- 
fullest surgeon alive, could search for and take out the 
bullet. Besides this, you had best not venture your- 
self at this present time at Leicester. 1 hear that 
the King’s army took it with circumstances of no 
small barbarity, and I doubt whether even the Lord- 
general’s safe-conduct will avail you.” 

With this I was constrained to be content; but 
six days after Master Ellgood judged it well that 
the surgeon should be sent for, if perchance he might 
be able to come, of which, indeed, there was great 
doubt. Therefore, having borrowed a horse from 
one of the neighbors, and, indeed, it was no small 
favor in those days to lend a horse, and taking with 
me also a letter from Master Ellgood, I rode to 
Leicester. John Talboys had been earnest to go in 
my place. Kay,” said our host, “ you are a soldier, 
and can no more hide your soldiership than you can 
make yourself invisible. And ’tis likely that there 
are some in Leicester who know your face, and haply 
the weight of your arm, whereas Master Philip here 


AFTER NASEBY. 


99 


has been diligent at his books for many months past^ 
and has the air of a scholar.” 

On the twenty-first day of June, therefore, being 
just one fortnight after the battle, I went to Leices- 
ter. The town was in a terrible confusion, having 
suffered two captures in the course of fourteen days. 
Many of the townsmen had fled ; indeed, few were 
left save of the poorer sort, so that there was scarce 
a shop open in the place. Some were shut up, but 
some were still as they had been left by the soldiers 
that plundered them (for the town had been most 
cruelly sacked by the King’s men), and there was 
scarce a window in the town that was not broken. 

By great good-fortune I found Master Parker new- 
ly returned to his house, and about to sit down to 
his dinner. When I told him my errand, he cried 
out upon me, What ! ride a matter of twenty miles 
to see one wounded man ? ’Tis manifestly impossi- 
ble. Why, boy, there are two hundred wounded 
men within a call of this room, and some of them as 
curious cases as any one could ask to see. I could 
fill my day three times over, and not stir a hundred 
yards hence.” 

Hearing him speak thus, I bethought me of Mas- 
ter Ellgood’s letter, and showed it to him. 

^^Nay,” said he, why did you not bring this out 
before ? There is no man whom I honor more than 
Thomas Ellgood, and I would ride a hundred miles 
to serve him. He has a pretty knowledge of physic 
and surgery, too, for a lay person, and perceives, too, 
which is a rare thing in such a case, where his knowl- 
edge ends. And now let us think how this business 
may be best managed. I must even make two days 


100 


WITH THE KING AT OXFORD. 


out of one, if the one be not long enough. We will 
set out about ten of the clock to-night, and so I shall 
be here for mj^ day’s work to-morrow. And now, 
sir, you must dine with me.” 

This I did gladly enough. Dinner ended, said 
Master Parker, Divert yourself with these books. 
Here is Galen, and Pliny the elder, an industrious 
gatherer of facts, but over-credulous. Or, if you like 
something lighter, hei*e are some poems by Mr. John 
Milton, a great friend, they tell me, of the Lord-gen- 
eral, and here are the plays of William Shakespeare, 
if the saints permit me to make mention of things so 
profane. I would counsel you not to stir abroad, 
for if any one should chance to remember you there 
might be some trouble.” 

Nevertheless I ventured forth, being, as is the wont 
of young men, wise in my own conceit, and save 
that some boys cried after me, my hair being some- 
what longer tlian is the fashion among the puritani- 
cal folk, sutfered no harm. Nay, I had some pleas- 
ant talk with an honest soldier'^ that I met upon the 
wall. He seemed, by his accent, which was such as 
they use in the eastern parts of England, to be but 
of lowly birth ; but yet his talk was full of wit and 
fine fancy. No gentleman, were he the finest scholar 
in Oxford, could have spoken better. I repent me 
that I did not ask his name. 

At ten of the clock that night we set forth, and 
came to Master Ellgood’s house without any misad- 
venture. Hearing that my father was awake, and. 


* Perhaps this common soldier was John Banyan, who was 
prohahly in Leicester at this time, 


AFTER NASEBY. 


101 


indeed, he rarely slept but an hour or so at one time. 
Master Parker would see him at once. He examined 
the shoulder and arm with great carefulness; and 
when he had made an end, my father said, “And 
now, sir, tell me how it is with me.” 

“ It might have been worse,” said he. 

“ Ay,” answered my father, “ if the bullet had en- 
tered some six inches more to the right it had made 
a shorter work with me. But whether that had been 
worse, who can say ? save, perhaps, that a man may 
well have some days wherein to prepare himself. 
Blit speak out, sir; I have not faced Death so many 
times in the field that I should fear him in the 
chamber.” 

“ ’Tis not,” said the surgeon, “ in human skill to 
make a cure in this case.” 

“ So be it,” answered my father, “ if such is the 
will of God. But tell me, sir, how long I have to 
live.” 

“ Some five days I should say,” the surgeon made 
answer. 

“ God reward you, sir,” said my father, “ for your 
trouble; and now, my good friends, and you, son 
Philip, leave me alone. When a man hears such 
tidings as this, though, indeed, they be nothing more 
than I looked for, he would fain think over them in 
solitude.” 

So we left him. About two hours after dawn the 
good surgeon set forth on his way back to Leicester. 
Looking in at my father about the same time, I saw 
that he was sleeping peacefully; and indeed he did 
not awake till seven of the clock, which had not hap- 
pened before since his coming to the house. 


102 


WITH THE KING AT OXFORD. 


CHAPTER XII. 

OF MY FATHER’S END AND OTHER MATTERS. 

When my father awoke I asked him, “ Shall I go 
for my mother and sister 

He answered me, Had I desired to see them — 
nay, but I do desire to see them, with a great long- 
ing,” and his eyes were filled with tears, a thing that 
I had never seen before in him ; had it been well 
that they should come, son Philip, I had sent you for 
them so soon as I was brought to this place. I knew 
when first that bullet struck me that it carried a bil- 
let of death, nor have I ever looked for any other 
end, though a man will hope even against hope, nor 
do I pretend to be stronger and wiser than others. 
But as for your mother and your sister coming hither, 
’tis clearly impossible. They would need a regiment 
of horse to escort them safely, for the country was 
never so disturbed.' No, my son, when I bade your 
mother farewell at Oxford, it was understood be- 
tween us that, whatever might befall me, she and our 
dear Dorothy should tarry at home. And, indeed, 
this was part of the cost that she and I counted when 
I took up arms for the King. God comfort her in 
her widowhood, and you and Dorothy render her 
double love and duty. And now I would settle my 
worldly affairs, that I may give the rest of my time 
to God.” 

After this he made a codicil to his will, to which 


OF MY FATHER’S END. 


loa 


Master Ellgood and John Talbojs set their hands as 
witnesses. Also he bade me write down what he de- 
sired to be done with sundry possessions that he had, 
desiring that certain friends should have something 
to keep in memory of him. And he gave me many 
messages for kinsfolk and acquaintance, and much 
counsel for myself, of which the chief was that while I 
had the opportunity — for how long you may have 
it,” said he, I know not ” — I should be diligent 
with my books, and that in due time, if I felt any 
drawing thereto, I should seek for orders at the hands 
of a bishop. But of these things, as being matters of 
private concern, I will here write no more. 

The rest of his time, which was indeed but two 
days, the wound mortifying and so bringing him to 
his end sooner than any had thought, he spent in med- 
itation and religious exercises. Master Ellgood, who 
was a priest, though, as will be set forth more at 
length hereafter, he had long been excluded from his 
office, was most diligent in praying and reading the 
Scriptures with him ; and on the morning of his 
death, which was the festival of St. John the Baptist, 
delivered to him the blessed sacrament, all that were 
in the house communicating with him. My fathers 
strength held out just so long that he could join, 
though but in a low voice, to the very end of the 
service. Nor did he speak again afterwards, till he 
came to the very last, but lay with his eyes shut, yet 
conscious of himself, as I knew because he pressed 
my hand as I sat by him. About two hours after 
noon it seemed to me that he had departed, for I 
could not see his breast move, nor feel the vein in his 
wrist. But it was not so, for when Cicely held a 


104 


WITH THE KING AT OXFORD. 


mirror to liis mouth, the breath was to be seen upon 
it, though but very faint. In this state he lay for the 
space of three hours or thereabouts; but about five of 
the clock there came a fiush upon his cheeks, and he 
opened his eyes, which were as bright as ever 1 saw 
them, and looked at me, and said in a clear voice, 
smiling the while, I have seen her, and it is well.” 
And, having said this, he passed away. And here I 
should say that at this very hour my mother sitting 
in her chamber, having just come back from even- 
song in St. Peter’s Church, saw my father, as plain 
as ever she had seen him in life, standing by the win- 
dow ; and that he smiled upon her very sweetly and 
pleasantly. I seemed to know,” she said afterwards, 
that it was not he in the fiesh, for I did not make 
to go to him or speak to him ; but yet I was in no 
wise afraid, but sat looking at him with such love 
and gladness in rny heart as I had never felt before. 
And in a short space of time, for it seemed to me, 
but ’twas, as afterwards I found from comparing of 
time, about half of an hour, he vanished out of my 
sight.” 

My father was buried in the church-yard of Nase- 
by. Master Ellgood saying oyer him the service pro- 
vided in the Prayer-book. The minister of Nase- 
by, a good man, but somewhat timid witlial, had 
not dared to use it, but our Iiost had no such fear. 
‘‘None,” said he, “will hinder me or call me to ac- 
count.” And so it was, I may note, that, having 
the whole by heart from beginning to end, he used 
no book. Maybe, had he liad a book in his hand, 
some that were present might have made objection ; 
but when he said it as if extempore, not only did 


OF MY FATHER’S END. 


105 


none miinnur, bat all seemed edified. ’Tis a strange 
thing, and yet of a piece with many other things in 
life, that a man may say unharmed, yea, and com- 
mended, that which to reaH would put him in peril 
of liberty or life. 

I, coming back from the burying, was wetted 
through by a great storm of rain, and, neglecting to 
change my clothes, was the next day taken with a 
great cold and fever, other things, I doubt not, as 
care and trouble of mind, making the sickness worse. 
And indeed ’twas so sore (this they told me after, 
but at the time I knew nothing, but only raved of 
figliting and of disputing in the school at Oxford), 
that for some days I was like to follow my father. 
So I lay betwixt life and death till it was about the 
middle of the month of July ; and then, partly through 
Master Ellgood’s skill in physic (especially in the use 
of simples of which he had a considerable knowl- 
edge), and more through the good nursing of Mis- 
tress Cicely and of John Talboys, I began to mend. 

One morning when the danger was past, says John 
Talboys to me, “’Tis time, sir, that I thought of de- 
parting hence. You need me no more, and I must 
shift for myself. My soldiering is over for three 
years to come ; but I reckon that a stout pair of 
hands will not lack employment. 1 can ply a sickle 
and drive a furrow as well as most men; and there 
are those in Oxfordshire who know it and will give 
me good wages.” 

So I gave him two gold-pieces (having had ten 
given me by my father). He was loath to take them, 
but I pressed them on him, as being my father’s gift 
to him, as indeed they were. Also I wrote a letter 


106 


WITH THE KING AT OXFORD. 


of many sheets to my mother, which I gave into his 
keeping, he promising to deliver it into her hands 
with all possible speed. So he departed; nor have 
I ever seen him again, but I hear that he prospers, 
keeping an inn at Cassington, in the county of Berks, 
and having also a farm. He is as brave and honest 
a fellow as ever bestrode a horse. 

After I began to mend I saw no more of Mistress 
Cicely, though I could hear her singing about the 
house, for she had a very sweet and tunable voice. 
There waited on me a very decent widow woman 
from the village, that was reckoned a notable nurse 
in these parts; such doubtless she was, for I never 
lacked anything, but had all things served at the due 
time. But she had a heavy hand and a croaking 
voice, and was of a singular doleful temper. She 
would sit by the hour and talk to me of those whom 
she had nursed in times past; and if she mentioned 
one that had died, she would say like enough, He 
very greatly favored you, sir,” or “ He had the same 
complexion as you, and I have noted that it often 
goes with a consumption,” or ^‘He was of very tall 
stature, and your tall men fail very suddenly.” I 
was myself tall. As for her readiness to believe all 
kinds of marvels, ’twas such as I never saw surpassed. 
There was scarce a house in the country but she 
knew of some ghost that walked in it, and if there 
was no ghost of a man, then there was one of a dog 
or a cat ; and as for witches, there was not a village 
but had two or three. And when I doubted, she 
had circumstances at hand to prove what she said. 
“Did not Thomas Clark at Erpington Mill speak 
roughly to Alice Viner, the Erpington witch, for 


OP MY FATHER’S EKD. 


107 


picking wood in his coppice, and Alice cursed him, 
and said that he should never die in his bed, and 
the miller, coming home from market the very next 
Tuesday, fell from his horse and was killed ?” But 
was the miller in liquor, think you I said. Yes,” 
said she, “and had come home in liquor every mar- 
ket day for thirty years and more, and had come to 
no harm till he fell out with Alice.” That witches 
may be, I do not doubt, for does not Scripture say, 
“Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live;” but that 
many poor women have an ill name for witchcraft, 
ay, and worse than an ill name, that have no worse 
faults than a shrewish temper and a bitter tongue, I 
do not doubt. With such doleful tales did Margery 
Marriott — for that was the good woman’s name — 
entertain me ; and though Master Ellgood would 
come and sit with me, I was right *glad when, the 
fever having left me and, in a great measure, the 
weakness also that followed it, I was quit of her 
company. 

It was about the end of July when I left my 
chamber; there then followed so delightful a time 
as had never before come to me in my whole life. 
First, the skies smiled upon me, for the summer hav- 
ing been hitherto somewhat wet and stormy, there 
now began a season of the most serene weather that 
can be imagined; and next, the place was most sweet 
and pleasant, a very home of peace, and Master Ell- 
good showed me such courtesy and kindness as could 
not be surpassed; and lastly, to use the figure which 
the rhetoricians call a climax, I had sometimes, at 
least, though not as often as I would, the companion- 
ship of Mistress Cicely. Of her face and aspect I 


108 


WITH THE KING AT ONFOllD. 


have written before ; and these were such, indeed, 
as would strike all beholders; but of the inner beau- 
« ty and fairness of her soul I have said nothing, nor, 
indeed, can now say enough. She ordered her fa- 
ther’s household with such nice care as not the most 
experienced matron could have excelled, and yet had 
barely ended her seventeenth year ; nay, but for the 
help of a little maid, and a lad that hewed the wood 
and fetched the water, she did all the service of the 
house ; yet, for all this, I never saw her with so much 
as a pin awry, nor any flush upon her cheeks, though 
she might be newly come from cooking the dinner. 
And for all these cares, yet time never failed her to 
minister to tlie sick when any needed her help ; no, 
nor to nourish her own mind with the reading of 
wholesome authors. She was not ignorant of Latin, 
which her father had taught her in company with 
her brother, but to this, since he ^went to the war, she 
had paid but little heed; but with our English writ- 
ers she had such acquaintance as made me, being in- 
deed somewhat rude in these matters, wholly ashamed. 
’Twas of her that I learned to read the Canterbury 
Pilgrims” of Geoffrey Chaucer, and the poems of 
Lord Surrey, and the incomparable Sir Philip Syd- 
ney’s romance of ‘‘Arcadia.” Of William Shake- 
speare his plays I knew already somewhat, but with 
her and her father much increased my knowledge, 
for of an evening we would read one or another, 
dividing the characters among ourselves. But I 
must confess that it was not her notable house-keep- 
ing, nor her charitable disposition, nor her learning 
in authors ancient and modern, that I chiefly admired 
in her; no, nor her beauty only, that I may be but 


OF MY FATHER'S END. 


109 


just to myself; but herself, that was a compound, 
most sweetly mixed of all ; for gracious ways, and a 
delicate courtesy, and a most modest discretion of 
voice and look set off and displayed, if I may so 
speak of that which did always rather seek to hide 
itself, the singular virtues of her mind and body. I 
do believe what divines teach of the corruption of 
human nature, yet I must confess that I have seen 
women, of whom Cicely Ellgood was one, my moth- 
er another, and my sister Dorothy a third, in whom 
I never discovered that which could rightly be called 
corrupt. Faults they had, I doubt not, though in 
Cicely and my mother I never perceived any such 
(for Dorothy had a quick temper, but only in too 
hot anger against wrong-doing) ; but that they sinned 
— if I must need receive it, I receive it of faith, not 
of understanding. 

I do not know whether Master Ellgood perceived 
how I was affected towards his daughter, for that I 
was greatly enamoured of her scarcely needs telling ; 
but on the seventh day, or thereabouts, after my first 
descending from my chamber, he called me to his 
private parlor, saying that he desired to have some 
talk with me. 

“ Master Dashwood,” he said, ’tis well that host 
and guest, if their chance acquaintance has any like- 
lihood to become more durable, should know some- 
thing of each other. Hear, therefore, my story ; it 
may be that, having heard it, you may choose that we 
should part. I was — nay, I do protest that I still am 
— a priest of the Church of England ; but I have 
been for these many years deprived of my office; 
and the cause was this, which you shall now hear. 


no 


WITH THE KING AT OXFORD. 


Maybe you have not heard of the ^ Book of Sports.’ 
It made trouble enough in its days, but like enough 
has now been forgotten for stress of graver matters. 

“It had this for its title: ‘Concerning Lawful Sports 
to be used on Sundays after Divine Service.’ In it 
was commanded that dancing and archery, and May 
games, and Whitsun ales, and Church feasts, should 
be held lawful ; but bull-baiting and bear-baiting and 
interludes forbidden. At its first publishing it made 
but little stir; this was some thirty years since, in the 
days of King James I. But when Dr. Laud, that was 
then Archbishop of Canterbury, put it forth again 
some twelve years since, and strictly commanded all 
the bishops of his province that they should enforce 
it on all ministers, no little trouble arose. Against 
Dr. Laud I would say notliing, but he was one that 
suffered not his words to fall to the ground. There 
went out, therefore, a strict commandment that every 
minister should read the book on the eighteenth of 
October following — being St. Luke’s day — publicly 
in the church, after morning praj^er. Some of the 
bishops took little heed of the matter ; but my Lord 
of Norwich, in whose diocese I held a cure, was ex- 
ceeding hot about it. To be brief, I read it not. 
Now I hold not with them who rnislike these games 
altogether. If the Jews danced and shot with the 
bow, why not Christian men ? And as for the Whit- 
sun ales and the Church feasts and the like, that they 
work mischief I deny not; but ’tis chiefly because 
honest and sober folk keep too much aloof from them, 
and leave them to the looser sort. Nor am I alto- 
gether resolved in mind whether such things be un- 
lawful on the Sunday. To forbid them savors of Sab- 


OF MY FATHER’S END. 


Ill 


bath worship; yet to permit them does not tend to 
edifying. Maybe you will ask why, then, did I not 
read the book, as was enjoined upon me? Because I 
held that the civil power was intruding into things 
with which it had no concern, the which intrusion 
every true minister of God must resist to the loss of 
all tilings, and, if need be, even to the death. How- 
beit I will not weary you with my reasons, which, in- 
deed, that I may be altogether honest, I found not 
many to comprehend. To the one party I seemed a 
rebel, because I obeyed not my ordinary, and to the 
other a profane person, because I condemned not the 
sports. Let my reasons, therefore, be. ’Tis enough 
for my present purpose to say that I could not in my 
conscience obey. Well, the archbishop being advised 
by my Lord of Norwich, sends for me to Lambeth. 
As soon as I came into his library, where he sat with 
a chaplain on either hand, he burst out on me : ‘Well, 
sir, I hear that you read not the book on the day ap- 
pointed. Is it so?’ ‘Suffer me, your Grace — ’ I said, 
but before I could end my sentence he cried out, 
‘ Answer me “yea” or “ nay.” ’ ‘ I read it not,’ said 

I, being myself also, it must be confessed, a little 
touched by his heat. ‘ Then,’ he cried, in a loud 
voice, ‘I suspend you forever from your office and 
benefice till you shall read it.’ Thereat I saw one of 
the chaplains whisper into his ear. Hereupon he 
moderated somewhat his voice, and said, ‘ Have you 
any defence?’ I had written down my reasons, and 
now began to read them. They were, as I have said 
already, that the book was a civil declaration, such as 
could not lawfully be enforced by any court ecclesi- 
astical. But when I had read barely a page he brake 


112 


WITH THE KING AT OXFORD. 


in upon me : ^ Hold ! ’tis enough ; I will hear no more. 
Whosoever shall make such a defence, it shall be 
burned before his face, and he laid by the heels in 
prison. Hear now ; I admonish you hereby, person- 
ally and judicially, that you read this Declaration 
within three weeks, under pain of being suspended ah 
officio et heneficio.'^ As I turned to go I saw that the 
cliaplain whispered in his ear again. Then the arch- 
bishop said, ^ Tarry a moment. Master Ellgood, and 
sit down’ — for hitherto I had been standing — ‘I 
would have a word with you.’ And this he said in a 
voice more gentle by far than he had before used. 
Afterwards I heard that the chaplain had w^hispered 
to him about a little book that I had written of St. 
Cyprian and the Bishop of Borne, in which matter 
the archbishop was much concerned. ^Have you 
studied the Fathers, Master Ellgood?’ And when I 
confessed that I had some knowledge of them, he 
held me in talk about sundry matters which were 
then much talked of, of which the chief was the su- 
premacy of the Bishop of Koine. This converse held 
us till noon, when the archbishop would have me 
dine with him, and, dinner ended, we plaj’ed at bowds, 
the day being fine, though it was already November ; 
and I throwing my bowls well — for I have always 
loved the game — his Grace said, ‘’Tis not now the 
first time that you have thrown a bowl, Master Ell- 
good, so that you mislike not all sport.’ This he spake 
right pleasantly, and when I went away he gave me 
his blessing, and said, ‘I doubt not. Master Ellgood, 
but that we shall agree ;’ and so parted from me in 
all friendship. Of a truth, I would fain have done 
his pleasure, if only conscience had suffered me ; but 


OF MY FATHER’S END. 


113 


I must needs wrap me in my virtue, if I may some- 
what misquote Horace ; nor could I consent tliat the 
sun of his Grace’s favor should cause me to cast off 
that which the blast of his wrath had not rent from 
me. I stood, therefore, by my denial, and so was first 
excommunicated, and afterwards, still persisting, de- 
prived of my benefice. Ah, my son ! ’twas a hard 
time with me and mine; nor has it always been an 
easy thing with me to be in charity with all men. 
They drave me forth from my house in February, 
when the snow was lying deep upon the ground ; 
and for two days we had no shelter for our heads 
but a barn. The bishop’s people stripped me of all 
that I had, but ’twas not of my lord’s knowledge, 
and I had not so much as a piece of silver in my 
pocket, nor did any man dare to take me into his 
house, though some brought me food by stealth. 
wife was stricken of so deadly a chill that she fell into 
a wasting sickness and died some three months after. 
She had taken some of her underclothing to keep 
our children the warmer; but this I knew not till 
after. Perchance it was better that I knew not ; it 
had been a hard thing to choose between mother and 
children. But why do I weary you with my trou- 
bles? Suffice it to say that for two years I could 
scarce keep body and soul together. A trifle I earned 
translating for the booksellers, and the dedication of 
two little treatises that I wrote fetched me a few 
guineas; but I had received better wages by follow- 
ing the plough, had but my hands been hard enough. 
Some of my brethren in the ministry also helped, es- 
pecially Dr. Thomas F uller, that was Vicar of Broad- 
winsor, and some money I had from the archbishop 
8 


114 WITH THE KING AT OXFORD. 

himself, but this I knew not till after his death. God 
forgive me for thinking too hardly of him ! At the 
end of the two years, a certain kinsman that, living, 
had never favored me, dying without a will, I inherit- 
ed this house, with some two hundred acres of land, 
part of which I have farmed as best I could, and part 
have let. Perchance yon would ask why, they that 
persecuted me having fallen from power, I have had 
no favor from them that succeeded to their place? 
The cause is soon said. I am no Puritan; I hold 
neither with Presbyterian nor with Independent, but 
think that bishops are the true rulers of the Church, 
though I myself have had scant favor from them. 
The Covenant I cannot subscribe, nor can 1 satisfy tho 
committees that the Parliament has appointed for the 
examining of the clergy. An I could, I would not 
intrude myself into a benefice from which some god- 
ly man has been driven out because he w^as faithful 
to his King. But enough of myself. If you can 
bear with one who can neither run with the hare nor 
hunt with the hounds, well ; I shall rejoice from my 
heart ; but if not, we can at the least part in Chris- 
tian charity.” 

I should have found it hard to part with sweet 
Cicely’s father had he been Hugh Peters himself, 
who was the loudest and fiercest of all the Parlia- 
ment preachers. But wdio could refuse the hand of 
fellowship to such an one as William Ellgood ? He 
was one of those whose consciences are too fine set 
for this world. Whoever was uppermost, there would 
be ever something at which he would have some 
scruple. He had fared just as ill, nay worse, had he 
lived a hundred years before. Then he had been 


OF MY FATHER’S END. 


115 


condemned under the Six Articles, and fallen under 
the displeasure of the counsellors of King Edward, 
and been in danger of the fire at Srnithfield, and 
been deprived of his benefice under Queen Eliza- 
beth. Yerily he was no vicar of Bray that would 
be vicar still whoever should rule the roast. The 
more I knew him the more I loved him, yet I could 
but see that were all men such as he, life itself would 
be a thing impossible. Pure he was, and single-mind- 
ed and steadfast, but could see but one thing at a 
time ; and everything, be it ever so small, was an 
article of faith to him, for which he had gone cheer- 
fully to the death ; and I soon learned to see so much 
not only in his talP, in which he afterwards was quite 
free with me, but in his face, which, for all its angel- 
ical sweetness, had a certain set look which I have 
noted in the fiercest sectaries. But William Ellgood 
was one that had for others a charity without bounds, 
and was stern only upon himself. 

Two or three days after Master Ellgood opened to 
me a trouble that he had about his son. ^‘He is a 
good lad,” he said to me, my son John, but he does 
not see eye to eye with me in matters of Church and 
State. There is work enough for them who stand 
aside from both parties in these days, and this I would 
have had him do, but he was not content, but must 
needs take service with the Parliament. He was 
with my Lord Essex’s army, and is promoted, I be- 
lieve, to be a captain ; but the whole matter is a sore 
trouble to me.” 

“Well, Master Ellgood,” said I, “I had been better 
pleased had he stood for the King ; but that one who 
hath the strength to strike a blow should stand aside 


116 


WITH THE KING AT OXFORD. 


and not deal it for one side or the other, is not to be 
looked for.” 

Say you so ?” said he ; “ there are but few that 
have one mind with me in this matter. I must e’en 
be content to be alone.” 

I sojourned six weeks with Master Ellgood and 
then departed, tliough, as need scarce be said, very 
loath to go, but I heard that his son John, the war 
being now well-nigh at an end, was like to return 
home, and I could not reconcile it to myself to see 
him, when he had lately borne arms against the King. 
I spake no word to Mistress Cicely before I went, 
for who was I — a poor scholar that had followed the 
losing side — to entangle her with promises? But 
there are vows that pass without words. Such an one 
I made in my own heart. As for her, I knew noth- 
ing certain, and lovers will find their hopes in slight 
tokens; yet such a hope I found; and it sent me 
away with a lighter heart than I had ever looked to 
have again. 


OF MY COMING BACK TO OXFORD. 


117 


CHAPTER XIII. 

OF MY COMING BACK TO OXFORD. 

Coming back to Oxford about the beginning of 
the month September, I found all things in a very 
disheartened condition. For, indeed, little now re- 
mained to the King. The strong city of Bristol the 
Prince Eupert had surrendered to the Lord-general, 
having but a few days before affirmed in a letter 
to the King that he could hold the place for four 
months unless he should be constrained otherwise 
by mutiny in the garrison. The King, indeed, was 
ill-served by this same prince, of whom it may be 
said that he was over-bold where he needed to be 
cautious, and that where boldness was most required 
he showed no small lack of constancy. About the 
same time, also, thd^e came news of the defeat of my 
Lord Montrose, at Philiphaugh. From him the King 
had hoped great things ; and indeed he had had for 
a time singular great success ; but his army was such 
that success was no less fatal to it than defeat, the 
savage people from the Highlands, who were its 
main-stay, retiring, after their custom, to the mount- 
ains, where they dwelt, when they had gathered a 
sufficiency of plunder. As for the King himself, he 
was then at Newark, to which place he had fled, with 
but a small following, from Chester, where, seeking 
to relieve the city from siege, he had been defeated 
with great loss. But about the beginning of Novem- 


118 


WITH THE KING AT OXFORD. 


ber (for it was, I remember, about the day of our 
Gaudeamus — that is to say, the first day of Novem- 
ber) he came back to Oxford, and there tarried for 
the rest of the winter. 

And now it was needful to prepare all things for 
the worst. First, then, because it could not be hoped 
but that the city o.f Oxford would be soon besieged 
(a thing which, though many times threatened, had 
never yet been done), it seemed good to make perfect 
the fortifications. There came forth, therefore, a 
proclamation from his Majesty’s Privy Council that 
all the inhabitants of Oxford, being above the age 
of sixteen, should upon four several days, named 
therein, work upon the fortifications behind Christ 
Church (at which place their defect was greatest). 
And it was ordered that if any person from age, or 
infirmity, or other occupation, should fail so to work, 
he should either find one suitable person to labor in 
his stead, or should pay a contribution of one shilling 
for the day; and for each servant the householder 
employing him was to pay the sum of sixpence. 
Having but few shillings in my purse, and being cu- 
rious withal to see the matter, which was indeed a 
new thing in England, I elected to work rather than 
to pay. And indeed it was a strange sight to see the 
multitude gathered together. Some came for very 
zeal, as if they could not be content but they must 
show how zealous they were for the King, and some 
for meanness or poverty came rather to labor with 
their own hands than to pay. So far as I could see 
there was but little work done, and this from lack of 
skill in part, and in part from want of heart. I veri- 
ly believe that a hundred stout fellows paid, not by 


OF MY COMING BACK TO OXFORD. 


119 


the hours of their working, but by the work that they 
should do, had accomplished much more than the 
mixed multitude gathered together that day. 

The fortifications, however, be they as strong as 
they might, could defend the city but for a short 
time only, and indeed had their chief use in this, 
that the garrison and inhabitants, being safe from 
sudden assault, might through them obtain for them- 
selves better terms of surrender. It was necessary, 
therefore, to provide, so far as might be possible, 
against the time when the city should be surrendered 
into the hands of our enemies. Of this provision 
one chief matter was the hiding away of such things 
as were apt to suffer damage from their hatred or 
ignorance. Now there had come from time to time 
grievous reports of the cruel damage done by the 
soldiers of the Parliament in various cathedrals and 
churches throughout the realm wherever they had 
fallen into their power. Especially had they shown 
themselves zealous against what in their fanatic lan- 
guage they were wont to call idolatry, not only break- 
ing down statues that they espied on walls or on 
tombs, but also figures, whether of Christ or of holy 
men, that were painted on windows. And it was 
known that they were especially zealous against such 
figures or images when they savored of Popery, as 
ran the phrase which was greatly in favor in these 
times. Such things, then, it seemed expedient to 
hide. Therefore at Christ Church, in the Cathedral, 
the dean, than whom there was no one more stiff for 
the King, had a certain window, which is especially 
prized in that Society, put away in a safe place, and 
another set up in its place. On this window was 


120 


WITH THE KING AT OXFORD. 


represented Dr. Robert King, last Abbot of Oseney 
and first Bishop of Oxford, in his bishop’s robes, hav- 
ing a mitre on his head and holding a crosier in his 
right hand. ’Twas most handsomely painted with 
colors, so fine and so harmoniously blended as no 
man in these days seems to have the wit to do. I 
hope that it may remain hidden so long as these 
present hardships may endure, and be found when 
they shall have passed away, as I do not doubt that 
they will. At Magdalen College, also, the painted 
glass of the great eastern window in the chapel 
was taken out of its place, and put away in like man- 
ner, for the safe restoration of which I here set down 
the same hope. 

On the fourteenth day of March in the year fol- 
lowing (that is to say, the year 1646) an army of Sir 
Ralph Hopton, that still held out for the King in 
Cornwall (and ’twas in the West that his Majesty’s 
cause was ever the strongest, whereas it was weakest 
in the East), surrendered itself, being reduced to such 
straits as left no hope of escape, much less of victory. 
This was heard in Oxford by a messenger from tlie 
general of the enemy, who was so courteous as to give 
us the news, not the less readily, perhaps, that it was 
not like to be welcome. On the very same day, that 
is, the twenty-second day of March (for the matter 
in Cornwall, having befallen on the fourteenth, had 
taken so long to travel to us), came tidings of a great 
misfortune that had befallen his Majesty nearer at 
hand. For Sir Jacob Astley, coming from Worces- 
ter to Oxford with about three thousand men, mostly 
horse, that he had gathered, was fallen upon by one 
Colonel Morgan at Stow-on-the-Wold, and routed, be- 


OF MY COMING BACK TO OXFORD. 


121 


ing himself taken prisoner. This we heard from one 
of Sir Jacob’s own riders, who escaped, or, I should 
rather suppose, was suffered to escape, that he might 
bring the ill news to the King. And indeed ’twas 
the very last stroke that overset the tottering edifice 
of his fortunes, as was sufficiently evident from what 
the good knight, being taken to the aforesaid Colonel 
Morgan, is reported to have said : Now you have 
done your work, and may go to play, unless you choose 
to fall out among yourselves.” Of this same valiant 
soldier is told another thing which seems to me well 
worthy to be here set down, that at the battle of 
Edgehill, before he charged, he made this pray- 
er: “O Lord! Thou knowest how busy I must be 
this day. If I forget Thee, do not Thou forget 
me.” And having said so much, he rose from his 
knees, and cried with a cheerful voice, March on, 
boys.” 

And now, a siege being imminent, the King depart- 
ed from Oxford. Of his going but very few knew 
beforehand, but I heard afterwards from one that 
was present that he went at midnight on the twenty- 
seventh day of April, being disguised as a servant, 
even to having his hair cut in Puritan fashion, and 
riding with a portmanteau behind him. He had but 
two companions. Dr. Hudson, that was a parson, but 
not less a soldier, and a certain Master Ashburnham, 
whose servant he feigned himself to be. And if few 
knew of his purpose of going, the place whither he 
should go he knew not himself. At the first he rode 
towards London, to which, indeed, he approached so 
near that he came as far as Harrow-on-the-Hill, being 
minded, it was said, to enter the City and throw himself 


122 


WITH THE KING AT OXFORD. 


on the mercy of the Parliament. Bntj departing from 
this purpose, if, indeed, he ever entertained it, he rode 
northward to Newark, where the Scots’ army lay, 
hoping that they might protect him, of which hope 
he was, indeed, grievously disappointed, the Scots giv- 
ing him up to his enemies. ’Twas said that they 
sold him; and it is certain that at the time of his 
being surrendered, it was agreed that the Scots should 
have four hundred thousand pounds, being, as they 
said, arrears of their wages, paid to them. Yet, as 
they came into England to make war, together with 
the Parliament, against the King, this charge, me- 
thinks, is too harsh, for being by profession enemies, 
why should they behave to him as friends? Never- 
theless it had been more seemly if no mention had 
been made at the time of the wages. 

And now at Oxford the end came nearer and near- 
er. We made a dam at St. Clement’s Bridge (which 
is by Magdalen College), and so laid the country that 
is to the south side of the city under water. But else- 
where the lines of the enemy were drawn all about 
us. This was the beginning of May. Of fighting 
there was but little ; on this, being, as I conceived, 
bound by my oath, I did not so much as look. But 
I could not choose but hear the cannonading which 
w^ent forward with but little rest. Our men would 
fire, it was said, so many as two hundred shots in 
the day, doing, however, but small damage, so that 
it seemed as if they had it in their mind to spend 
their powder rather than to do execution. And I 
take it that they suffered more damage than they gave, 
the enemy having more marks, and these also more 
manifest, at which to make his aim. About the end- 


OF MY COMING BACK TO OXFORD. 


123 


ing of the month of May comes an order from the 
King that the city should be surrendered. 

Meanwhile, I, as I have said, turned away not only 
my hands, but also, as far as it was possible, my eyes 
and my thoughts fvom war, conceiving that I should 
so acknowledge the great kindness of my Lord Fair- 
fax. Here, therefore, I may not unfittingly set down 
somewhat about the thing with which 1 now con- 
cerned myself. Before my going to join company 
with my father before the battle at Naseby, being 
about to finish my second year of residing, I per- 
formed my first exercises, that is to say, I answered, 
as the academical phrase has it, in parviso, and so 
became, to use again the somewhat barbarous dialect, 
sophista generalise the visible signs and tokens of 
which honor was the putting into my hands of a book 
of Aristotle, and round my neck, by one of the beadles, 
when I had duly finished my answering, of a little 
hood of some common black stuff, which same hood, as 
might be concluded from its look, had done the like 
service for many before me. 

As I am speaking of this matter I may anticipate 
the time somewhat in this place, and relate how I 
afterwards answered for my degree, which by great 
fortune I was able to do before that I was constrained 
to leave Oxford. The questions on which I disputed 
were in part ethical and in part philosophical. And 
here, for the edifying of my readers, I will set them 
forth, being two of each sort. First, then, came the 
philosophical. 

1. Whether there can be administered by the art of the physician 
an universal remedy f 

2. Whether the moon can be inhabited? And whether, it being 


124 


WITH THE KING AT OXFORD. 


granted that it has inhabitants, these ham a popular or a despotic 
constitution? 

After these came the ethical questions, in which 
were included political. 

1. 'Whether the die he a laioful means of acquiring property ? 

2. Whether a multitude of scholars be profitable to a common- 
wealth f 

But this was not done till after the time of which 
I have been now speaking, when I was near upon 
completing my fourth academical year. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

OF BODLEY’S LIBRARY. 

’Tis no small pleasure for me, and will be doubt- 
less for any -that shall hereafter read what I have 
here written, to turn from wars and fighting, of which 
I must perforce say much, to the quiet and delecta- 
ble realm of learning. And, though I would not be 
thought wilfully to praise myself, I may say so much 
that, amid all the distractions of the time, which were 
indeed many and great, this realm I did never wholly 
leave or desert, though compelled often to be absent 
therefrom. 

Plaving already spoken of these matters, I would 
now say somewhat of that place which is, as it were, 
the capital of this kingdom to such as are subjects 
thereof, within the limits of the University of Oxford 
— I speak of Bodley’s Library. This I do the more 
willingly because I know not how long it may abide 
unharmed in its present estate. For who knows not 


OF BODLEY’S LIBKARY. 


125 


what shameful things were done, when, one hundred 
years ago, or thereabouts, the ^visitors of King Ed- 
ward, sixth of the name, purged, as they did call it, 
the libraries of this place, and among them that no- 
ble collection of manuscripts and books which Hum- 
phrey, Duke of Gloucester, and Thomas Kempe, some 
time Bishop of London, with other benefactors, did 
bestow upon the University of Oxford. Their com- 
mission was to do away with all that savored of Pop- 
ish superstition. If, therefore, they spied in any vol- 
ume any illumination or picture, or even rubrical 
letter, such as are wont to be used for the ornamen- 
tation of mass-books and the like, that they inconti- 
nently destroyed without further examination, for 
such examination they had not the will, or, it may be, 
the ability to make. Such, indeed, was their igno- 
rance, if one may believe the tradition that is yet 
current in Oxford concerning this matter, that such 
books wherein appeared angles or mathematical dia- 
grams were thought sufficient to be destroyed, be- 
cause accounted Popish, or diabolical, for, indeed, 
they stood in no less dread of witchcraft than of the 
Pope. Kay, their folly had almost led them into the 
grossest impiety, for among the books brought out to 
be destroyed were, ’tis said, many copies of the New 
Testament in Greek, which, the character being 
strange to them that handled them, were condemned 
as mischievous, and had perished together with the 
rest, but that one wiser than his fellows kept them 
from t-heir fate. Certain it is that damage beyond all 
counting was done in this way, the rage of these ig- 
norant men being especially directed against the 
works of Peter Lombard, and Thomas Aquinas, and 


126 


WITH THE KING AT OXFORD. 


Duns Scotiis, and others, who are commonly called 
the Schoolmen. These were carried on biers by rude 
young men of the city to the market-place, and there, 
being piled in a great heap, burned with fire. Others, 
against which they had no special hate, were sold, and 
at such mean rates that one knows not whether to be 
more angry or ashamed at their silliness. For what 
says John Bale on this matter, who, as all know, was 
no lover of monks and monkery, but rather hated all 
that savored of Papistry with a perfect hatred ? He 
saj'S that many reserved tliese books to scour their 
candlesticks and to rub their boots ; that others they 
sold to grocers and soap-sellers, and some they sent 
over to the bookbinders, whole sliipfuls at a time, to 
the wonderment of foreign nations. And again, de- 
scending to particulars, he writes: know a mer- 

chant man, which shall at this time be nameless, that 
bought the contents of two noble libraries for forty 
shillings price : a shame it is to be spoken. This stuff 
hath he occupied in the stead of gray paper by the 
space of more than these ten years, and yet he hath 
store enough for as many years to come.” All that 
bought them made not such an ill use of their pur- 
chase. God be thanked therefore! Thus a certain 
Dutchman, by trade a stationer, living in St. Mary’s 
Parish, bought some, which, being handed down by 
him to his son, were in the end given to the Library 
when Sir Thomas Bodley did restore it. 

So much for the past, which I have here written 
down because I hold it to be not impossible that the 
like may be done again. For the present, indeed, 
this fate has been warded off, for when, as I shall 
hereafter relate, this city of Oxford was delivered up 


OF BODLEY’S LIBRARY. 


127 


to the Parliament, the Lord-general did straightway 
set a guard to keep the Library from all harm ; and 
this he did, being a lover of learning, and well-know- 
ing that tliere were in the army many persons who, 
having a zeal without knowledge, would hav-e utterly 
destroyed it. And indeed I know not whether these 
may not yet so prevail as to get the chief regimen of 
things into their own hand, for, as all history teaches 
ns, the course of things in all such revolutions as this 
that hath lately overthrown the constitution of this 
country is this : first, the moderate and discreet have 
power ; next, these either yield to the more violent 
and extreme or are themselves carried away by their 
own head-way ; and last, when the folly and wicked- 
ness of this excess has become altogether unendura- 
ble, the old order is again set up. Meanwhile, being 
desirous above all things to follow the truth, and to 
be just to all men, I must acknowledge that so far 
more damage was done to the Library by the King’s 
friends while they held the city than has since been 
done by his enemies, many books having been embez- 
zled, the chains by which the more precious are bound 
to their places being cut off, and other injuries done. 
But to come back to my subject. 

Sir Thomas Bodley’s Library, then, is a spacious 
building, of which the main chamber lies east and 
west, having ten windows on either side, and fur- 
nished in most goodly sort with shelves and other 
needful appurtenances. The chief glory of this 
chamber is the roof, divided into squares, on each of 
which are painted the arms of the university, being 
the open Bible with the seven seals, of which St. 
John speaks in the Revelation (but others take it of 


128 


WITH THE KING AT OXFORD. 


the seven liberal arts), and the words, Dominus II- 
LUMiNATio Mea.” Oil the bosses that are between 
each compartment are painted the arms of Sir Thom- 
as Bodley himself. At the east end of this chamber 
is the bust of the pious founder. Sir Thomas Bodley, 
who has been dead at this present time of writing 
(1651) eight-and-thirty years. Of this bust King 
James I., visiting the Library three years after his 
coming to the throne, said, having read the well- 
merited praises that have been inscribed there,^^ Veri- 
ly, his name should be Godley rather than Bodley.” 
The wit of this saying is indeed but indifferent, but 
it has what all wit does not possess, that is to say, 
truth. To this chamber has been added at the east- 
ern end what may be called a picture-gallery, also 
furnished with book-shelves, which occupies the whole 
of the upper story of the quadrangle. 

So much of the building, but of the precious things 
which it. con tains I cannot profess to speak. Of print- 
ed books there must be near upon thirty tliousand, 
a number which it staggers the mind only to conceive ; 
but as for reading them, not the lifetime of Methu- 
selah himself would sufBce.f Of manuscripts also 
there is a great store, some of them being most un- 
commonly rare and precious, as, for example, to men- 
tion one only out of many, is a manuscript of the 
Gospels, sent by St. Gregory to St. Augustine, his 
missionary to this realm of England, a treasure long 
preserved in St. Augustine’s Abbey in the city of 
Canterbury, and given to this Library some fifty 

* “The Lord is my Light.” 

f What would Philip Dash wood have said of the three hun- 
dred thouscf^nd volumes of which the Library now consists? — A. 0. 


OF BODLEY’S LIBRARY. 


129 


years since by Sir Robert Cotton. In this temple of 
the Muses, then, to speak the language of Paganism, 
I was accustomed to spend many hours ; at the first, 
while I was as yet an undergraduate, by favor and 
recommendation of Master Webberley, of whom I 
have before spoken, and afterwards, having been ad- 
mitted to the degree of Bachelor, of my own right. 
’Tis rich in books of that classical learning which I 
have always, so far as it has been possible for me, es- 
pecially followed, and most conveniently ordered, for 
students, to whom indeed it is especially commended 
by the courtesy of its officers.* ’Twas indeed but lit- 
tle visited by readers in my time, the Muses having 
been driven out both there and elsewhere by the tu- 
mult of arms. Yet there were some faithful students 
who seemed not to care one jot who ruled the realm, 
so that they were not disturbed in this their peculiar 
province ; as for me, my young blood permitted me 
not to reach so serene a height, but I never suffered 
myself to be wliolly distracted from study, as were 
many of my fellows, by the excitements of war. I 
have myself seen more than once the King come into 
the Library, desiring to see some book that was there- 
in. This he did because Bodley’s statutes forbid the 
lending out of any book or manuscript, be the borrower 
who he may. But I remember that in the year 1645, 
while I was reading in the great chamber (I bear in 
mind that it was winter-time and passing cold), there 
came an order to Master Rous, then and now Bodley’s 
librarian, in these words, Deliver unto the bearer 
hereof, for the present use of his Majesty, a book in- 


* Still a tradition of the Library. — A. C. 
9 


130 


WITH THE KING AT OXFORD. 


tituled ^HistoiretJniverselle du Sieiir d’Aubigne/ and 
this shall be your warrant.” To this Dr. Samuel 
Fell, Dean of Christ Church and then vice-chancellor, 
l)ad subscribed, His Majesty’s use is in command to 
us.” But Master Kous would have none of it, having 
sworn to observe the statutes of the Library, which 
statutes forbid all lending of the books without any re- 
spect of persons. Therefore he goes to the King and 
shows him the statutes, which being read, the King 
would not have the book nor permit it to be taken 
out of the Library, saying that it was fit that the will 
and statutes of the pious founder should be religiously 
observed. Would that he had been like-minded in 
all things! So much I may say without damage to 
my fidelity. It had been happier so for him and for 
this realm of England. 

And thus I am reminded of a strange thing that I 
heard from the lips of Master Verneuil, who was in 
those days deputy-librarian. The King, coming into 
the library on a certain day, was shown a curious 
copy of the poet Yirgil. Then the Lord Falkland 
that was with him (the same that was slain at the 
second battle of Newbury, to the great loss of this 
realm and sorrow of all the better sort on either 
side) would have his Majesty make trial of his fort- 
une by tlie “ Sortes Virgilianse.” This is a kind of 
augury which has been very much used for some 
ages past, the manner of it being thus: The person 
that will consult the oracle, if I may so speak, taking 
a penknife or bodkin in his hand, thrusts it, turning 
his head away at the same time, into the volume of 
Virgil. This done, he opens the book and takes the 
place to which the instrument may point as the an- 


OF BODLEY’S LIBRARY. 


131 


swer that Fate intends for him. On this occasion, 
therefore, the King lighted upon this period, being 
part of the imprecation which Queen Dido invokes 
on ^neas that has deserted her. It was Englished 
thus by Master Thomas Phaer, about one hundred 
years since. 

“Yet let him vexed be with arms and wars of peoples wild. 
And hunted out from place to place, an outlaw still exiled. 
And let him beg for help, and from his child dissevered be. 
And death and slaughter vile of aU his kindred let him see, 
And when to laws of wicked peace he doth himself behight, 
Yet let him never reign, nor in this life to have delight, 

But die before his day, and rot on ground without a grave.” 

The King being in no small degree discomposed 
at this accident, the Lord Falkland would himself 
make trial of the book, hoping to fall on some pas- 
sage that should have no relation to his case, that so 
the King’s thoughts might be in a measure diverted 
from the impression that had been made upon them. 
But, lo ! it fell out that the place he stumbled upon 
was yet more suited to his destiny than that other 
had been to the King. ’Twas in the eleventh book 
of the “^neid ” where the old King Evander speaks 
of the death of Pallas his son. This was Englished 
by Master Thomas Twynam, who finished the work 
of Master Phaer aforesaid. 

“Didst not, O Pallas, thou to me, thy sire, this promise make: 
That charily thou wouldst thyself to cruel war betake? 

I knew right well the novel pride, and glory first in fight. 

And pleasant honor won in arms how much prevail it might. 
O hard beginnings to a lad and woeful martial train !” 

So much then for the library of Sir Thomas 
Bodley. 


132 


WITH THE KING AT OXFORD, 


CHAPTER XV. 

OF THE VISITORS AT OXFORD. 

Of the surrendering the city there is no need for 
me to write. Let it suffice to say that, after parleys 
held for certain days, the articles of agreement were 
signed on the twenty-third day of June, and on the 
day following the city was delivered over to Sir 
Thomas Fairfax. I remember it by this token, that 
it was the feast of St. John the Baptist, and that 
Master Blagrove, of whom more hereafter, preached 
before the university on that day in the chapel of 
St. John’s College, as the custom is. The garrison 
went forth with their flags flying, and all the honors 
of war, and many others went with them. 

Of these, some had naught to do with the univer- 
sity, having been brought to Oxford by the war, 
and now leaving it in due course when they thought 
they might serve the King elsewhere (though, indeed, 
his cause was now past help, save from the hand 
of God, and this was for the time present stayed). 
Others left place and preferment, or the prospect of 
such, in their several colleges, either because from 
the long use of arms to which they had been ac- 
customed by the siege the pursuits of peace had be- 
come flat and unprofitable, or because they were so 
well known as enemies to the cause of the Parlia- 
ment that they did not venture to stay behind ; or, 
finally, as was the case with not a few, as conceiving 


OF THE VISITORS AT OXFORD. 


133 


that their duty to the King was best done elsewhere 
than in Oxford. As for myself, though not yielding 
to any in loyalty to his sacred Majesty, I remained 
where I was. To this I conceived myself bound, 
not only by promise to the Lord -general Fairfax, 
but also by my father’s instructions, who had laid it 
upon me as a command that I should follow my 
studies so long as it should be possible. Also I had 
a duty to my mother and sister which I could scarce 
have paid had I departed from Oxford, to which 
place they were, so to speak, necessarily bound. Their 
chief means of living came from the land that had 
been my father’s at Eynsham, and was now by law 
descended to me. That most worthy man, John 
Vickei’s, paid them his rent (which he might easily 
have withheld) most honorably, not waiting indeed 
for set seasons, but coming into the city on market 
days, or during the siege, whenever occasion offered, 
and paying, as he thought they might have need. 
God reward him for his truth and kindness ! Tliere 
were those that called him trimmer and turncoat 
and such ill names, because he was friendly with 
them that were in power. But I say that if all men 
of England had been as true to what they saw of 
right and duty, of which, indeed, some perceive more 
and some less, surely things had gone better with 
this realm than they did. 

I, therefore, and many others with me, for like rea- 
son, or others that had no less constraining power, tar- 
ried in Oxford, following our usual manner of life, 
and waiting for what might ensue. And indeed it 
mattered but little to me. My Scholarship was at 
the best but of small value, something less than three 


134 


WITH THE KING AT OXFORD. 


pounds by the year, and now was fallen to about 
thirty shillings from defect in the revenues of the 
college, of whose tenants some lacked the ability to 
pay (having had their farms wasted by the war), and 
some the will. Nor was I like to exchange it for any 
better preferment, being well known in my college 
and elsewhere as a zealous King’s man. Having 
therefore so little to lose that the very scurviest and 
most beggarly knave under the sun would scarce have 
perjured himself to gain or to save it, I could abide 
the end with a calm mind ; though, Indeed, I do trust 
I had been no less constant had I had the best pre- 
ferment in the university, the Deanery of Christ 
Church, to wit, or the president’s place at Magdalen 
College. And I was further confirmed in this tem- 
per by the marriage of my sister Dorothy with Mas- 
ter William Blagrove, Bachelor of Divinity of St. 
John’s College, that had lately succeeded to the vic- 
arage of Enstone. ’Twas an old contract between 
Dorothy and Master Blagrove, being first entered into 
in the year 1641, and now completed about the space 
of a year after my father’s death. Yet they thought 
themselves fortunate that the end was no longer de- 
layed. (And indeed I could name a couple of lovers 
that were contracted for forty-and-three years, ex- 
pecting all the while till a certain rectory should fall 
vacant.) Nevertheless it may be doubted whether 
delay had not served them better. ’Tis certain that 
they had no small share of that trouble in the flesh 
which St. Paul does prophesy to all them that were 
not content to abide single as he was. I doubt wheth- 
er these prophecies, even in the mouth of an apostle, 
deterred many whose hearts were set on matrimony, 


OF THE VISITORS AT OXFORD. 


135 


and indeed it must be remembered there was gain as 
well as loss. But of Dorothy and her husband I shall 
have occasion to speak again. Meanwhile I may say 
so much, that she being happily married, if it be hap- 
piness to have a learned and virtuous husband but 
poor in this world’s goods withal, and my mother go- 
ing to live with her, I was left master of myself and 
free to act as might seem most expedient. 

For a while it seemed as if nothing would be done, 
and some even began to hope that all things would 
be suffered to continue as they were. I, indeed, was 
not one of these, nor did I think that it would be 
weir if it should be so. For, indeed, the university 
had almost ceased to be ; there were few or none that 
lectured, and very few to hear, had teachers been ever 
so many ; such as remained were much debauched by 
the loose companionship which they had taken up 
during the war; the colleges were half empty or 
rented out to laics lest they should altogether fall 
into ruin. It cannot be doubted, therefore, but that 
there was need of some visitation ; nor was that which 
followed of a harsher sort than was to be looked for. 
’Tis ever the rule in this world that it goes ill with 
the conquered, and the conquerors divide the spoil. 
I say not that there was no harshness used, nor none 
driven out tliat might have been kept, not only with 
advantage to the university, but without loss to the 
new rulers; but this only, that the victors bore them- 
selves less haughtily and cruelly than might have been 
looked for, especially when it is considered what some 
of them had themselves suffered. 

And now to speak of what was done. In the month 
of May, in the year 1647, came the visitors to Oxford, 


136 


WITH THE KING AT OXFORD. 


twenty-four in number, thougli of these not a few 
were content from the beginning to stand aloof from 
the business, leaving it to the management of the 
clerics. They made but an ill beginning of their 
work. First, they delayed their coming over- long 
after their appointment, and this they did because 
the Parliament soldiers in Oxford, vexed at certain 
grievances they had in respect of their pay and other 
matters, made a mutiny, so that they feared to show 
themselves. And next, on the day which they had 
appointed for the university to appear before them, 
which was the fourth day of June, they themselves 
failed of their time. Their citation to the vice-chan- 
cellor, doctors, and masters was, “You shall appear 
before us between nine and eleven of the clock in 
the forenoon of the day aforesaid.” So the vice- 
chancellor, with the others, assembled duly in the 
Convocation House. But the visitors went to St. 
Mary’s Church, where, after prayers, there was a ser- 
mon preached by Master Robert Harris, of Magdalen 
Hall, who was one of them. But Master Harris, be- 
ing full of his office, and having much to say con- 
cerning the iniquities of the prelatical party and the 
like things, was more than ordinary long in his dis- 
course. When, therefore, the clock struck eleven and 
the visitors were not yet come. Master Vice-chancel- 
lor leaves the house, the beadles with their staves, as 
the custom is, walking before. And it so. chanced 
that at this very time the visitors were about to enter. 
Then cries the beadle, a bold fellow that was after- 
wards resolute not to give up his staff, “ Room for 
Master Vice-chancellor;” to whom the visitors, being 
thus taken unawares, gave place. As they passed, 


OP THE VISITORS AT OXFORD. m 

Master Vice-chancellor very civilly moved his cap to 
them, saying, Good -morrow, gentlemen, ’tis past 
eleven of the clock,” and so passed on, nor took any 
further heed of them. 

’Twould be tedious to relate all the hinderances 
that after this were put in their way, how their no- 
tices and citations were torn down so soon as they 
were put up, and the books which they called for 
were not delivered up ; so that, what with opposition 
from without and divisions within (the Independents 
now having the great power and being minded to 
thrust down the Presbyterians from the first place), 
nothing was done. Nay, though my Lord Pembroke, 
that was chancellor of the university, came down in 
his own person, and stormed at the vice-chancellor, 
telling him with many oaths (in which he was said 
to be proficient beyond all men of his time), that the 
devil had raised him to that office, and that it was 
fit that he should be whipped, nay, hanged ; even so 
they made no progress. Nor could they gain pos- 
session of the keys of the university, for these the 
clerks obstinately kept (as for the register they took 
it by force from the registrar’s room), and the gold 
and silver staves were, as I have said, denied them, 
so that they were sadly shorn of the dignity which 
should have belonged to them. And this, I under- 
stand, vexed them as much as anything. 

But at last, in the month of March, 1648 — that is 
to say, nigh upon two years after the surrender of 
the city — the visitors did set to their work in earnest, 
and beginning with Magdalen College, demanded of 
every one whether he submitted to the authority of 
Parliament in this present visitation. And to this 


188 WITH THE KING AT OXFORD. 

demand a plain answer was required. Truly it was 
piteous to see the straits to which honest men were 
reduced, that were loath to offend their conscience 
and yet would willingly have kept their means of 
livelihood. Some, especially among the cooks, but- 
lers, porters, and other servants of the college, pleaded 
that they were ignorant and unlearned, and did not 
rightly understand how to answer that which was 
demanded of them. And some of the younger sort 
pleaded their tender age why they should not answer 
so hard a question. Others, again, hedged themselves 
in with sundry conditions and reservations, if by any 
means they could satisfy both their own consciences 
and the visitors. Here I have transcribed some of 
the answers. 

‘‘1 am not of the understanding (my years being 
so tender) to hold your thesis which you propose, 
either affirmative or negative.” 

Whereas very learned and judicious men have 
desired time, I shall think it presumption in me to 
answer it extempore.” 

‘Ht is beyond my weak apprehension to give you 
any positive answer.” 

‘^My weak capacity cannot resolve you of this so 
hard a question.” 

I submit in all cases not exempted by oath.” 
submit so far as my oath giveth me leave.” 

When I shall be satisfied in conscience that I may 
lawfully do it, I will willingly submit.” 

I do submit to King and Parliament in this vis- 
itation, so far as lawfully I may.” 

do not conceive that this visitation doth at all 
concern me.” 


OF THE VISITORS AT O^tFORD. 


139 


“ Whereas ” (this was made by a gentleman of 
Christ Church) “ I, being a Commoner here, do re- 
ceive no benefit from the House, but living at great 
expense, and daily expecting to be taken home by 
my friends, I think this visitation doth not concern 
me.” 

“ Sirs, to acknowledge the authority of Parliament 
in this visitation were to acknowledge you lawful 
visitors, and to acknowledge you lawful visitors were 
to say more than I know ; and also to acknowledge 
many visitors, whereas I can but acknowledge one.” 

For myself I rather admired such answers as were 
given by Francis Dixon and Joseph Carricks, students 
of Christ Church, whereof the one said, 

I, Francis Dixon, shall not submit to any visitors 
but the King, and do acknowledge no visitor but the 
King.” 

And the other, 

“ I, John Carricks, will not submit to the visitation ; 
I will not.” 

And indeed the reservations of the others served 
them but little, for the visitors shut them at last to a 
plain “ Yes ” or “ No.” 

On the seventh day of May came the visitors to 
Lincoln College, and set us the same question. The 
greater part submitted; these I name not, nor say 
that they sinned against their conscience. There 
is One that judgeth, to whom they shall answer. 
As for me, I met the visitors with a plain “ No ;” 
and having before, as knowing what should follow, 
prepared all things against my departure, left Oxford 
that very same day. 


140 


WITH THE HIKG AT OXFORD. 


CHAPTER XVL 

OF MY KINSFOLK AT ENSTONE. 

My sister Dorothy and her good husband. Master 
Blagrove, had long been earnest with me that I should 
visit them ; and this, though there was that which 
drew me elsewhere, I now purposed to do, both be- 
cause I desired to see my kindred again and to learn 
how they fared, and because Enstone was of a con- 
venient nearness to Oxford. Such goods as I had I 
put in charge of a worthy citizen. Master Mallam, a 
draper, that had Iiis dwelling in the Corn-market, a 
good man that loved the King and the Church in his 
lieart, but bare him so discreetly that he had the fa- 
vor of the opposite faction. My books, which were 
indeed my chief possessions, though these also were 
neither many in number nor of great price, I gave 
into the charge of Anthony Wood, that was Bible- 
clerk of Merton College (which place, though a King’s 
man, he had kept by the special favor of Sir Nathan- 
iel Brent, the warden of the said college). This An- 
thony was a great lover of books, and studious be- 
yond his years, of which he at that time numbered 
about sixteen. These matters settled, I, taking with 
me only so much as I could conveniently carry on 
my back, and with a stout walking-staff in my hand 
— such as the good Bishop Jewel did lend to Master 
Richard Hooker, pleasantly calling it his horse — set 
out on my journey, which, being twenty miles or 


OF MY KINSFOLK AT ENSTONE. 


141 


thereabouts, I accomplished in the space of six hours. 
I found a pleasant company gathered at Master Bla- 
grove’s house, for he had that day tjhristened his lit- 
tle son, so that my coming was in season. After the 
first greeting, says my sister Dorotliy to me, 

“ Now, Philip, kiss your godson, though indeed you 
are but a negligent godfather. Had you but come 
six hours sooner you had answered for yourself. As 
it is, you must thank Master Willis here, whom I must 
now make known to you, for standing in your place.” 

Nay, Dorothy,” I answered, “you cannot rightly 
blame me. No man could have done to-day’s busi- 
ness more speedily than I. This very morning, mind 
you, come the visitors to Lincoln College, and, my 
betters disposed of, call me before them. ‘ Philip 
Dashwood,’ says the chief among them. Sir Nathan- 
iel Brent, that is warden of Merton College, ‘ do you 
submit to this visitation V ‘ Sirs,’ said I, ‘ I do not 
submit.’ ^Then you are expelled,’ says the great 
man ; and, turning to the clerk, ‘ Take a note of his 
name and sentence ;’ and to the manciple, ‘ Strike 
out his name from the books;’ and having waited 
till I saw it done, I even turned on my heel, and so 
departed without a word. I warrant that my busi- 
ness filled not more than three minutes at the most. 
And this was scarce ten hours ago, for the visitors 
came to us about eight of the clock.” 

When I had told them my tale, my sister Dorothy, 
who had ever a tender heart, and thought better of 
me than I deserved, cried out, 

“That was well, my brave Philip. I cannot be 
patient with the time-serving knaves who would keep 
their preferment at cost of their faith.” 


142 


WITH THE KING AT OXFORD. 


Nay, Dorothy,” said I, mine was but a small 
matter, a few shillings by the year, which, in the 
common course, I could not have had much longer. 
’Twas easy enough to give up so small a thing, but 
I judge not them who for wife and children’s sake 
have strained their conscience, it may be, beyond that 
which is right.” 

As I spake, I noticed that my good brother looked 
somewhat grave and heavy, and so went on : 

But eras seria^ as some one hath it, which may 
be translated. Mistress Dorothy, lest, haply, you have 
forgotten your Latin, ‘ business to - morrow.’ And 
now, Dorothy, tell me about this little Philip.” 

Dorothy had much to say about the babe, which I 
will not here set down. And when she had ended 
her talk, which she did, not because she had said 
enough concerning his beauty and goodness, but be- 
cause she was constrained to depart with him and 
lay him in his cradle, from which he had been kept 
over-long, we discoursed about other things, as sport 
and country matters of divers kinds, buying and sell- 
ing of horses and cattle and the like, with Master 
Willis, who was a farmer, and a person of no small 
consideration, seeing that he paid more tithes than 
any other in the parish, and was church-warden to 
boot. He was in a complaining mood, for which, 
doubtless, he had at the time sufficiently good reason, 
but which seems to be common to all who follow his 
occupation. I suppose that they who spend their 
time in this business of tilling the earth have ever 
from day to day disappointments, unseasonable weath- 
er, promise of crops ill performed, and the like, which, 
though they be severally small, yet from their num- 


OF MY KINSFOLK AT ENSTONE. 


143 


ber and frequent occurrence worry the soul ; and it 
is ever the way with men, that little evils obscure 
and drive out of mind great goods. 

It has ever been a poor life with us farmers, and 
now it is like to be poorer still. As for sport, there 
is scarce a hare or a partridge in the whole country- 
side. For that the soldiers have taken good care. 
There was no odds between King’s men and Parlia- 
ment’s men. One was as keen after these things as 
another, and what one chanced to leave the other was 
sure to take. And as for merry-making, there is lit- 
tle of it left, and will soon be none. Why, ’tis a sin 
in the eyes of these sour-faced whining folk to eat a 
mince-pie ; and as for baiting a bear or a bull, as has 
ever been done here till these bad times, we should be 
taken to prison for the very mention of such a thing. 
But these be strange times, sir. Why, our good par- 
son himself. Master Blagrove here, if I may make 
bold to say so much to his face, has new-fangled fan- 
cies about such things. You would scarce believe it, 
sir, but he will not suffer the scholars to have their 
cock-throwing on Shrove-Tuesday. I was wont to 
give the bird — some tough old fellow that was be- 
come too savage, as they will, sir, when they get past 
their age — and the master would tie him to a stake 
when school was ended for the morning, and the 
scholars, or such of them as had been diligent at their 
learning, would stand in a ring round about him and 
throw staves at him, and the lad that gave him the 
mortal blow (’twas strange to see how long a bird 
would live) would have a shilling for himself. Then 
comes Master Blagrove, and talks of cruelty and the 
like. Now, if a man deals barbarously with a Chris- 


144 


WITH THE KING AT OXFORD. 


tiaii, I call him cruel ; but why should we care about 
brute beasts that, as St. Peter has it, are ^ made to be 
taken and destroyed?’” 

Perceiving that Master Willis was getting to be 
somewhat warm on this matter, I rose from my place 
and said to my host, “ I am somewhat weary, and, 
with your good leave, will to bed.” On this signal 
the others also went their way. 

The next day I rose betimes, and seeing my broth- 
er pacing to and fro in his garden, made haste to join 
him. 

^‘Philip,” said he, ^^your dear sister is a very lion- 
ess for courage, though she is gentle also and loving. 
I have heard tell of wives that for fear of poverty 
for them whom they love, have tempted their hus- 
bands to compliance with base things. Verily your 
sister is not one of these. She would starve, yea, and 
see her babe starve — which, I take it, would trouble 
her a hundredfold more — before she would let one 
false word pass her lips. And I do believe in my 
soul that if, which God forbid, I should yield to evil 
for her sake and the babe’s (for I could not be so 
base as to yield to it for my own), she would leave 
me sooner than have a share in the unclean thing. 
And being so set in her mind, and resolved what she 
will do, she keeps such a cheerful mind as I cannot 
pretend to. And, indeed, to speak the whole truth, 
which I scarce like to do in her hearing, ’tis a dismal 
prospect. Hitherto, it is true, I have been marvel- 
lously protected. My good friend Sir Thomas Chesh- 
am, w^ho is the principal man in this part, having 
both a freehold of his own and a very profitable lease 
from the college, has stood by me, so that while oth- 


OF MY KINSFOLK AT ENSTONE. 


145 


ers have been dispossessed of their livings, both on 
my right hand and my left, I remain unharmed. ’Tis 
true there are murmurings against me; yea, and 
threats openly made. Once and again have my ene- 
mies come into the church, resolved, I doubt not, had 
they not been hindered, to drag me from my veiy 
pulpit. ’Twas the Sunday before Easter this very 
year that three troopers, with their swords by their 
side, came, having with them a preacher in a black 
gown, wliom they would have put in my place. When 
I went up to the pulpit to preach, up starts one of 
the troopers, and would have left his place ; but Sir 
Thomas rose from his seat and said, ‘ William Ball, 
and you, Hugh Peters (for I know you both), you 
shall answer for this day’s uproar. Master Blagrove 
is a good man, and has not been dispossessed by any 
sentence of law or commission. Till he be so, he, 
and he only, has a right where he is, and verily so 
long as I am master in this parish he shall keep it.’ 

“ After that they were content to remain in their 
place, and I gave the doctor such a screed of doctrine 
as, I warrant you, he had not heard for a long time. 
You see. Sir Thomas is a man of no mean authority, 
having been ever on the Parliament’s side from the 
very beginning of these troubles. He was with Mas- 
ter Hampden in the ship-money matter, and has 
served the cause with money and otherwise, having 
indeed raised no small part of a troop of horse from 
this very place. I would he had been otherwise 
minded ; but if it had been so he could not have 
served me. Nor do I know how much longer his 
protection will avail. For I hear, and that from the 
good man himself, that he is ever in less and less ac- 
10 


146 


WITH THE KING AT OXFORD. 


cord with them that have now the chief authority. 
He would gladly have made peace with the King and 
set him again on his throne, with due provision made 
for liberty ; nor does he hold with those that cry out 
for a republic. And in- religion he is a Presbyterian, 
yet of such a sort that he is not ill-content to live 
under a bishop so that he have no Popish ways. But, 
as you know, brother Philip, these are not the opin- 
ions which find favor in high places in these days, 
and I know not how soon he may find even himself 
in danger.” 

And what will you do. Master Blagrove?” for so 
I was wont to call him in consideration of his age, 
which was, I suppose, the double of mine at this time. 

I shall wait,” answered he ; and when I am dis- 
possessed suffer it with what patience I may. I have 
not the spirit of my good neighbor. Master Warden, 
of Hay throp ; for when they would have intruded a 
new minister into his house he would not give place, 
but declared himself resolved not to give up his house 
to the usurper but With his life. Accordingly he 
caused his bed to be brought down into his parlor, 
kept his gun still charged, and had a watch set all 
night. Ay, and so bravely and constantly did he bear 
himself that the usurper had to betake himself else- 
where till Master Warden’s deathvwhich indeed hap- 
pened but a few weeks since, he being then in his 
eighty-seventh year. He was a stout fellow, and his 
people loved him, for never man had a more open 
hand. But ’tis in my temper to yield more peace- 
ably ; for I have given pledges to Fortune, whereas 
Master Warden had been many years a widower, and 
his children had long since grown up, and gone forth 


OF MY KINSFOLK AT ENSTOXE. 


147 


into the world. But come, let us talk of other things. 
^ Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereoffi ” 

I was yet bound by my promise to Sir Thomas 
Fairfax (now become by his father’s death Lord Fair- 
fax) that I would not bear arms against the Parlia- 
ment, the three years for which this said promise 
held good running until the fourteenth day of June, 
on which day, it will be remembered, the battle of 
Naseby was fought. But for this ’tis very like that I 
had taken part with his Majesty’s friends, who in this 
year sought to raise the kingdom on his behalf. This 
they did in many diverse parts, as in Wales, where 
certain officers that had lately fought against the 
King now took up arms for him ; and in Essex, where 
my Lord Capel with others held Colchester in his 
name ; nor were they without good hope of success, 
the Scots being ready to help, and the fleet also set- 
ting their officers aside and submitting them to the 
Prince of Wales. It was well for me that things 
were otherwise ordered, for, as is well known, all these 
beginnings ended in nothing. As for myself, when 
I was free from my promise (which was about a 
month after my coming to Enstone), I tarried where 
I was, judging that my duty kept me there. For 
first my mother was very urgent with me that I should 
stay. “His Majesty is a kind prince,” she would 
say, “ and now that I have lost my husband in his 
cause, will not ask from me my son also.” Also I 
felt myself bound in kindness to my sister and her 
husband, that had relieved me in my need, and were 
now, I could perceive, in no small need of such help 
as I could give. For Master Blagrove, for lack of a 
tenant, had been constrained to farm his own glebe. 


148 


WITH THE KING AT OXFOED. 


which glebe was indeed tlie main support of his liv- 
ing. But what could a man do in such a business 
who, I do verily believe, knew not a plough from a 
harrow, or barley from wheat ? Books on husbandry 
he had none, save you may reckon as such Hesiod’s 
“Works and Days,” and the “ Georgies ” of Virgil; 
nor, had he possessed the wisest treatises that have 
ever been writ, may a man get any great benefit from 
that which is written. And as for buying and sell- 
ing, there was never a man in this world so incapable 
of doing these to his' own profit. I have noted that 
’tis always hard for gentlefolk to hold their own in 
the market, be they ever so shrewd and full of knowl- 
edge. But my brother, being as simple as he was 
good, would sell his goo(H for the price, be it ever so 
small, that was first offered to him, and would buy 
for whatever was asked. Here, then, I found e'xcel- 
lent occasion to serve him and my mother and sister 
also, who had otherwise fared but ill. Of farming I 
knew somewhat, having learned it from my father, 
who was himself, as I have said, well acquainted with 
it ; and as for dealings in the market, though I doubt 
not I was sometimes circumvented (for your rustic, 
look he ever so simple, is more than a match in cun- 
ning for your townsman), yet I took good care that 
he should not suffer any grievous wrong. And when 
the harvest was ended, I journeyed to Northampton- 
shire to see good Master Ellgood and my sweet Cice- 
ly. And there, for the land aljout Naseby is high 
and cold so that the seasons are later by far than in 
Oxfordshire, I was able to do service to the good 
man in the gathering of his corn. ’Twas a happy 
time indeed, for I would ply the sickle, and she, not 


OF MY KINSFOLK AT ENSTONE. 


149 


being one of those delicate maidens that can but sit 
at home with their embroidery, came after me, bind- 
ing the sheaves, one Gilbert Davenant, a young lad 
from Rugby School, helping. And when the gather- 
ing in was finished we took holiday. Sometimes we 
had a party at bowls (which game, as I have said, the 
good man liked much, taking pains beyond measure 
to keep his green smooth). Then Cicely and I would 
take sides against her father and Gilbert; in this 
sport I had no small skill, having followed it much 
at Oxford, where . are bowling-greens as fair and 
smooth as any in this kingdom ; and it was my de- 
light to bring my sweet Cicely’s bowl as near as 
might be to the jack, for so they call the mark where- 
at the players aim, driving it in at sacrifice of my 
own, or driving off her adversaries. And we came 
by practice to use this alliance to such good purpose 
that her good father and his companion could scarce 
win a rubber. It must be confessed that he would 
sometimes lose his patience and grow angry over the 
game (but on grave matters I never saw his anger 
stirred, though indeed he had suffered no small prov- 
ocation). Now and then also she w^ould walk with 
me to Naseby field, when I would rehearse to her all 
that I knew about the battle — a tale which she was 
never weary of hearing. Sometimes, also, we would 
angle in the Nen, which river, though here but a pet- 
ty stream, flowed but a little way eastward from her 
father’s dwelling. It was a happy time, such as I 
had never before enjoyed, but it was soon to be bro- 
ken through by a most grievous interruption. 


160 


WITH THE KING AT OXFORD. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

OF MY GOING TO LONDON. 

In the latter part of the month of September I 
went for a while to Enstone, and having set things in 
order concerning the autumn sowings of corn and 
other matters which need to be looked to at that sea- 
son of the year, and having also found by recom- 
mendation of John Yickers an honest man who 
should serve my brother as bailiff, I returned to Nase- 
by about the first day of November. 

Two or three days thereafter, as I sat in Master 
Ellgood’s study reading Master Hooker’s ^^Ecclesi- 
astical Polity” (for I was preparing myself, so far as 
time and other circumstances permitted, for the tak- 
ing of Holy Orders), comes Cicely knocking at the 
door, and opening it before ever I could speak, cries, 
“ Oh, Philip, see, John has come,” and therewith 
brings in a fair youth, some two years older than 
herself, as I judged, and save that he had some four 
inches more of stature, of a singular likeness to her ; 
and straightway on seeing him the doubt that had 
ever been in my mind whether I had ever before en- 
countered him was resolved, for I perceived in a mo- 
ment of time that the youth was the same that had 
yielded himself prisoner to my father at Copredy 
Bridge. As for him, he had no remembrance of me, 
at which, indeed I did not wonder, considering what 
he had suffered that day. I doubted at the first 


OF MY GOING TO LONDON. 


151 


whether I should make myself known to him, think- 
ing, not without good reason, that he had no cause to 
love me. But the better thought prevailed that I' 
should be honest before all things, nor endure to have 
some secret hanging, as it were, over my head and 
ever ready to fall ; and indeed I had made confession 
to Cicely of my savagery in this matter, and had re- 
ceived absolution from her. So I said, 

“ Master Ellgood, we have met before.” 

And when he regarded me steadfastly, yet without 
any sign of knowing me, I said, Do you remember 
one Dash wood at Copredy Bridge 

Ay,” said he, “ as gallant a gentleman as ever sat 
on horseback. He saved me when I was in no small 
peril of my life, and gave me as courteous treatment 
as prisoner ever had, and settled for me my exchange, 
so that my captivity had scarce begun when it was 
ended. I hope that he is in good health and pros- 
perity. But you are not he ; you must be younger 
by a score of years at the least.” 

He was my father,” said I, “ and I would fain 
shelter myself under his name, for, as for me, you 
have small cause to thank me.” 

And I made my confession to him. When I had 
finished he stretched out his right hand to me with a 
great laugh, saying, 

“ Why make such ado ? There was no harm done. 
And if you had made an end of me I do not know 
that any one would have been the loser, save, as they 
pleased to think, my good father and Cicely here ; 
and, indeed, I had not lived to see such evil days as 
these. Know you the last tidings ?” 

“ No,” said I ; I have heard nothing, save that 


15 ^ 


WITH THE KIKG AT OXFORD. 


the Lieutenant-general Cromwell has trodden the 
King’s friends underfoot everywhere. But in truth 
I have been thinking of other things.” 

Thereat I blushed, which is a foolish trick that I 
have, and Cicely also blushed for company. Then 
John Ellgood, looking from one to another, saw some- 
thing of what was between us. I know not that any 
man has at the first a particular kindness to him 
whom his sister favors (which is indeed a mighty un- 
grateful thing, for the lover has always a singular af- 
fection for his mistress’s brothers), but being a good 
lad and of a kind heart he said nothing, only I thought 
that I heard him say to himself, “Is this a time — ” 
and so brake off. “ Well,” he said, after he had been 
silent a while, “ listen to me. Four years ago we were 
enemies, now, I doubt not, we are friends.” (Tliis I 
was mightily glad to hear, fearing what might befall 
my love for Cicely.) “ 1 fought for the Parliament 
— thinking that they had the better cause — against 
the King, and I yet believe, though here, doubtless, 
you agree not with me, that I was in the right. But 
’tis otherwise with me now; and, indeed, ’tis not now 
the Parliament, but the Army, that reigns, and the 
Lieutenant-general Cromwell and his fellows seek not 
the redressing of wrongs and securing of liberties, 
but the setting up of a new rule ; and because they 
know in their hearts that this cannot be firmly estab- 
lished so long as the King stands in the way, though 
he be a prisoner and helpless, therefore they are mind- 
ed to bring him to judgment for what they are pleased 
to call his treasons against this nation, and having so 
brought him — ’tis almost too horrible to say, yea, even 
to think — to put him to death.” 


OF MY GOING TO LONDON. 


153 


Since then this thing has been done, and done with 
approval from some that are undoubtedly pious and 
learned persons (though I doubt not that the greater 
part of the nation abhorred the act), so that it has 
become in a way familiar, but then (I speak of my- 
self and of many others) it had not been so much as 
thought of. That the King might suffer much at tlie 
hand of his enemies ; that he might even be slain by 
some wicked or fanatic persons, as kings before him 
— Richard, the second of the name, to wit, and Henry 
the Sixth — had been slain by secret violence, I had 
deemed to be probable ; but that he should be brought 
to trial with accustomed forms of law and justice, and 
having been so brought, should be publicly and in the 
face of day put to death, seemed too horrible to be 
believed. There had never happened such a thing 
before, save only — and let no one judge it to be pro- 
fane that this was the first thought of many — save 
only when our Lord himself was condemned by Pi- 
late and crucified. 

It cannot be,’^ I said ; no men could dare to be 
so impiously wicked.” 

^^Nay,” said he, ‘^’tis but too true. But they shall 
not have their way without hinderance, for, besides 
many that have been the King’s friends from the be- 
ginning, there are some who, as I myself, were against 
him at the first, and so feel the more bound, as hav- 
ing contributed to his present low estate, to help him 
in his present necessity. But we will talk more of 
these things when my father shall return.” 

Master Ellgood had ridden to Harborough that day 
on some business that he had. 

He being returned after supper. Cicely also being 


154 


WITH THE KING AT OXFORD. 


present, John Ellgood set forth to him what I have 
written down above, and this also, that there were 
many of the same way of thinking with himself, and 
that they purposed to assemble in London so that they 
might be in readiness against whatever might happen, 
watching above all things for some occasion to save 
the King out of the hands of his enemies. When he 
had ended. Master Ellgood the elder said, 

I had hoped that you had done with strife. Yet 
I would not say a word to keep you back. I hold 
not, indeed, with them who say that a king can do 
no wrong, and that we be bound to yield him obedi- 
ence in all things without question. That we may 
lawfully restrain him by force from breaking down 
oiir liberties I do heartily believe, but I am persuad- 
ed that we cannot rightfully bring him to judgment; 
for, indeed, what authority is there that is competent 
for such things ? And, again, shall there be no end 
to the shedding of blood ? If this, indeed, be done 
’twill do more damage to true liberty than the King’s 
victory had done. Therefore, John, I bid you God’s 
speed on your eri*and ; and you, too, Philip, if you 
are minded to go with him.” 

Thereat I, sitting, as was my wont, by Cicely, and 
holding her hand in mine, felt it tigliten upon mine ; 
and looking at her, I saw her flush and grow pale, as 
was her wont when she was much moved. 

Nor would I stay you,” she whispered, though 
I, too, had hoped that all these things were flnished 
and done with.” 

It was concluded, therefore, that night that we 
should go ; but that there was no present need to 
depart. But it was needful that I should go for 


OF MY GOING TO LONDON. 


155 


a while to my brother at Enstone, and this without 
delay, and returned to Master Ellgood’s home about 
the twentieth of November. Then, again, eight days 
after we set out for London and came thither on the 
second day of December, and found a lodging with 
my kinsman Rushworth, of whom I have written in 
the relation of my school-days. The next day, being 
Sunday, we worshipped at the chapel of the Savoy, 
where Dr. Thomas F uller preached the sermon ; a 
most learned, witty, and eloquent discourse, and mar- 
vellously bold — the condition of the kingdom, where- 
in the King’s enemies were supreme, being consider- 
ed. His text was 1 Samuel xv. 23 : ^^For rebellion is 
as the sin of witchcraft f which he enforced with 
much plainness of speech, so that I marvelled that he 
was neither presently hindered from speaking nor af- 
terwards visited. But the good doctor is no respecter 
of persons, for did he not, being appointed preacher 
by the Parliament, discourse before them on these 
words (spoken by Mephibosheth to David concerning 
Ziba) : “ Yea let him take all^ so that my lord the 
King come again in peace^ to their no small discon- 
tent ? 

The day following we went to the House of Com- 
mons, being bestowed by favor of one of the ushers 
under one of the galleries. ’Tis a noble chamber, and 
the circumstances of the assembly, the Speaker, for ex- 
ample, with his mace, majestic; but itself, methinks, 
scarce a match in dignity for its surroundings, the 
members sitting for the most part as if they cared 
naught for that which was being done, so loudly did 
they talk with each other and laugh; but if one of 
greater note rose to speak there was straightway si- 


156 


WITH THE KING AT OXFORD. 


lence. As for us, we listened with all our ears, and 
that for many hours, for the House, meeting at ten of 
the clock in the forenoon, prolonged its sitting till nine 
of the clock in the morning of the day following, nor 
did we, save for refreshment’s sake for a few minutes, 
leave our place. It was a marvellous strange scene, 
for sometimes it would seem as if all the House were 
asleep, some one speaking of whom none took any 
heed ; then again there would be almost a tumult, 
angry crying out and stamping with the feet, so that 
one had almost thought the members ready to fly at 
each other’s throats. And above the great torches 
flared, making a mighty smoke and heat, so that 
though the air outside was cold and frosty, within 
the heat was like to suffocate. At the last, all being 
wearied out (and some of the older sort had been 
long asleep), the House came to a division, the ques- 
tion being one that touched the late conferences with 
the King, and the resolution to be determined being 
this: ‘‘That the King’s concessions to the Parliament 
are sufficient grounds for settling the peace of the 
kingdom.” And this resolution was carried by the 
majority of voices, the ayes being one hundred and 
twenty, and the noes fifty. 

Thereupon we went to our lodging with great joy, 
and found Master Rushworth waiting for us, who 
somewhat dashed our spirits. 

“ Ah !” said he, “ ’twould be well if the Parliament 
were our masters ; but ’tis not so. The power is not in 
Mr. Speaker’s mace, but in the Lord-general’s sword, 
or, rather, for ’tis said that the Lord’s-general’s day is 
past, with Master Cromwell and his colonels. I little 
thought that I should ever desire more power for the 


OF MY GOING TO LONDON. 


157 


Parliament ; yet so I do, for verily the Army will be 
a worse master.” 

The next day we wei’e again early at the House, 
and Master Usher, who seemed to have some knowl- 
edge beforehand of what should happen, put us in 
a place in the lobby. We noted coming in that the 
guards of the Houses had been changed ; for, where- 
as on the day before there had stood about the doors 
and passages the City trainbands, very gayly accou- 
tred, with their clothes and arms bearing no stain of 
war, there were now in their place two regiments of 
soldiers, that were manifestly veterans of many cam- 
paigns. 

And now we, standing behind in the shadow, for 
we did not desire to be espied, see some soldiers by 
the place of entering into the House of Commons, 
one of them, who seemed to be in command, having 
a paper in his hand. 

‘‘Mark you that man,” whispered the usher in my 
ear; “’tis Colonel Pride. Be sure that he has not 
come for naught.” 

And indeed it was so, for so soon as a member 
came to the door the said colonel would turn round ; 
now to a gentleman tliat stood by his side (whom I 
understood to be my Lord Grey of Groby), and now 
to one of the door-keepers, and would ask his name, 
and if he were on the list, then he seized upon him 
and delivered him to one of the soldiers, who led 
him off. All save one departed quietly ; and he, whom 
I knew to be Master William Prynne, one of the 
visitors that had come from the Parliament to Ox- 
ford, made as if he would have drawn his sword ; 
thereupon the colonel called for a guard of soldiers 


158 


WITH THE KING AT OXFORD. 


(and indeed both the Court of Requests and the 
stairs and the lobby were filled with them), at the 
sight of whom Master Prynne yielded himself quiet- 
ly. We saw thus seized by Colonel Pride and his 
soldiers forty-and-one members. Thus we were per- 
suaded that nothing was to be hoped in the King’s 
favor from the Parliament, were their will ever so 
good. Thereafter, indeed, all that had been zealous 
for a reconciliation being, as the extreme men were 
pleased to say, purged from the House, it voted noth- 
ing but what was agreeable to the will of the army. 

I shall not here set down in particular how we 
employed ourselves during the month that now fol- 
lowed, not knowing but what this writing may fall 
into unfriendly hands ; for though I am not careful 
to conceal my own opinions and actions, I should be 
loath to entangle others in my dangers. Let it suf- 
fice then to say that we busied ourselves in devising 
means by which we might deliver the King out of 
the hands of his enemies, and that in so doing we 
both found help where we looked not for it, and 
found it not where we had most expected it. For 
some that were imagined to be the King’s enemies 
were now earnest on his behalf, and some that pro- 
fessed themselves to be his friends were lukewarm, 
ay, and worse. Meanwhile we were diligent in at- 
tending at the debates of the Commons’ House, 
though, indeed, there was but little debating when a 
man might lose his liberty for any freedom of speech ; 
and so watched without ceasing for what turn mat- 
ters should take. 


OF THE TRIAL OF THE KING. 


159 


CHAPTER XVm. 

OF THE TRIAL OF THE KING. 

On the twentj^-eightli day of December, we, being 
according to our wont in the Commons’ House, heard 
read the report of a committee to which had been 
committed the matter of the King’s trial. It ran 
thus, to put it in a few words, that Charles Stuart ” 
(for so they entitled his gracious Majesty) had acted 
contrary to his trust in setting up his standard and 
making war against the Parliament and this report 
was debated on the day following, and it was resolved 
that he should be tried on this same charge, and to 
the same committee was given the business of choos- 
ing who should be his judges. 

This same day there happened a thing which 
showed of how resolute and fierce a temper were 
they who had the chief power at this time. We had 
had some converse with one Pitcher, that had been 
a major in the King’s army and was then lying hid 
in London, being intent indeed on the same business 
with which we were occupied. We counselled him 
to depart, for indeed his life was already forfeit. 
He had been in the King’s garrison at Worcester, 
and had engaged not to bear arms any more against 
the Parliament. Nevertheless, he had been found in 
arms in the late fighting at Pembroke. And having 
been yet again spared on condition that he -should 
depart from this realm, nor return thither for the 


160 


WITH THE KING AT OXFORD. 


space of two years without leave first had, he still 
delayed in London. I told him that it was a des- 
perate matter, and that he had best depart ; but he 
was obstinate to remain. “Nay,” said he, “ who can 
say what will happen in the space of two years, even 
to the doing of his gracious Majesty to death ? There 
I can avail nothing; here, perchance, I may do some 
good. Though it may be but the thousandth part of 
a chance, I will even risk my life upon it.” And 
this he did, even to the losing of it. How it fell out 
I know not, whether one that saw him at Worcester 
or Pembroke knew him again, or whether he betrayed 
himself — for he was ever bold, even to rashness, in 
his speech — but ’tis certain he was taken at a tavern 
in Westminster, and the next day shot in St. Paul’s 
Church-yard. I cannot name them that did it ; but 
it was proof, if indeed proof were needed, that they 
who sought to help the King carried their lives in 
their hands. 

On the first day of January the Commons’ House 
voted that the King had been guilty of high-treason 
in levying war against the Parliament. 

The same night John Ellgood and I, walking near 
to Charing Cross, saw a mighty strange sight which 
was as a comedy in the midst of a tragedy. There 
met us a company of soldiers, and with them a whole 
posse of players, habited in their robes, as kings and 
judges and queens, and as the other characters that 
are wont to be seen upon the stage. We heard that 
the Lord-general had commanded this to be done, and 
that the players still performing their plays against the 
ordinance of Parliament, the soldiers had taken them 

they were from Drury Lane and Salisbury Court. 


OF THE TRIAL OF THE KING. 


161 


On the fourth day of January, the Lords having 
rejected the ordinance concerning the trial of the 
King, the Commons declared that whatsoever was 
passed by them had the force of law, and this they 
did without any man saying “ Nay !” 

On the ninth day of the same month we, being in 
Westminster Hall (for we were always intent to see 
and hear what might happen), saw the sergeant-at- 
arms, bearing the mace upon his shoulder, having 
certain oflScers with him and six trumpeters, and a 
guard of horse and foot, ride into Westminster Hall, 
and there proclaim, “If any man has aught against 
Charles Stuart, King of England, let him come be- 
fore the commissioners appointed for the trial of 
the said Charles Stuart at this time to-morrow and 
make it known.” 

At length, on the nineteenth day of January, the 
trial was indeed begun, taking place in Westminster 
Hall, at the upper end, where the Courts of Chancery 
and King’s Bench were wont to be held, the two 
courts being thrown into one for the greater conven- 
ience of the numbers that were likely to be assem- 
bled. And on this same day of the month they 
brought his Majesty from Windsor to the Palace of 
St. James, guarding him with no small care against 
a rescue, which, indeed, they had no small reason to 
fear. 

It was permitted to all to enter the place of sitting, 
but the Hall and all the approaches thereto were very 
strongly kept with soldiers. John Ellgood and I at- 
tended this day and daily afterwards, having short 
swords and pistols under our cloaks, that we might 
be ready for any occasion that might arise; but our 
11 


162 


WITH THE KING AT OXFORD. 


hopes were daily diininislied, for though there were 
many tliat misliked the whole business, the dread of 
the army was upon them, and they dared not so much 
as stir a finger. Nevertlieless, when men were con- 
tent to sit in silence, yet there was a woman that had 
courage to speak out her mind, for when the list of 
commissioners was read aloud, and the crier gave 
forth the name of Thomas Lord Fairfax, being next 
after the name of the President of the Court, there 
was heard a voice, ‘‘He has more wit than to be 
here;” and afterwards, when (the impeachment be- 
ing read aloud) the reader pronounced the words — 
“ by the authority of Parliament and of all the good 
people of England,” the same voice spake again, “ No, 
nor the hundredth part of them.” Thereupon there 
was no small confusion ; and it has been said by some 
that the ofticer of the guard commanded his men 
that they should fire upon the place from which this 
voice proceeded. But I heard no such order given, 
nor do I believe it ; for who would dare thus to im- 
peril the innocent along with the guilty ? It was the 
Lady Fairfax, wife to the Lord-general, that thus 
cried out. She was of the lineage of the Veres, an 
ancient house to whose honor her behavior was con- 
formable. 

The next day the King was brought before the 
Court, and I, who had not seen him for nigh upon 
three years, noted that his aspect was somewhat 
changed, as indeed it might well be with his trou- 
bles. There was set for him a chaii* of crimson vel- 
vet, behind which there stood some thirty men, car- 
rying halberds. The judges, of whom there were 
present some sixty (which was not the half of them 


OF THE TRIAL OF THE KING. 


163 


that had been first named), sat in hat and cloak, the 
President wearing black. The King came in very 
stately, not moving his hat to the judges, but looking 
on them and on the spectators with a stern regard. 
Then, the crier having proclaimed silence, the Presi- 
dent said, 

“ Charles Stuart, King of England, the Commons 
of England, being deeply sensible of the calamities 
that have been brought upon this nation, which are 
fixed upon you as the principal author of them, have 
resolved to make inquisition for blood and more 
to the same effect. 

When the President had made an end. Master 
Coke, that was Solicitor for the Commonwealth, 
standing with two others upon the King’s right hand, 
offered to speak. But the King, having u staff in his 
hand, laid it lightly upon his shoulder, as if he would 
bid him stay. This he did twice, and the second 
time the gold head of the staff dropped off, at -which 
it was noted by some that were in the Court that the 
King manifestly changed color. 

Then the President ordered Master Solicitor to 
proceed, who said, “ My Lord, I am come to charge 
Charles Stuart, King of England, in the name of the 
Commonwealth, and desire that the charge may be 
read,” and so gave it to the clerk. Thereat the King 
cried, “ Hold nevertheless, the clerk continuing to 
read, he sat down and so remained silent, till about 
the end, when he smiled, but looking very stern and 
severe. When the hearing was ended, the President 
said, 

‘‘ Sir, the Court expects that you will make an an- 
swer to this charge.” 


164 


WITH THE KING AT OXFORD. 


Thereat the King answered, I would know by 
what authority I am brought hither?” 

President: “By authority of the people of Eng- 
land, whose elected king you are.” 

The King : “ The kingdom of England has never 
been elective, but hereditary for near these two thou- 
sand years. I stand here more for the liberty of my 
people than do my pretended judges.” 

President : “ ’Tis well known how you have mis- 
used this trust. The Court must proceed.” 

The King : “ I do not come as submitting to this 
Court. I was brought here by force. I see no 
House of Lords here; nor can there be a parliament 
without a king.” 

Many times did the President command him to 
answer, and he refused, saying that he should betray 
his trust in so doing. Thereupon he was remanded 
to St. James’s Palace. As he went he pointed to the 
sword, which, with the mace, lay upon the table, and 
said, “ I fear not that.” There was a great shout as 
he walked down the Hall, “ God save the King,” and 
another, but not so loud, of “ Justice, justice !” It is 
tedious to tell all that passed between the President 
and the King on the days following. Indeed it was 
ever the same, the President desiring that the King 
should plead, and affirming that no prisoner could be 
suffered to deny the authority of the Court by which 
he was tried, and the King, on the other hand, being 
resolute to deny that he could be lawfully judged by 
them that pretended to do so. And this contention 
endured throughout three days. All that were pres- 
ent noted that the King, who commonly had a cer- 
tain hesitancy in his speech, now spake with as much 


OF THE TiilAL OF TH^ KINO. 165 

freedom as could be desired. At the last the Presi- 
dent said, 

Sir, this is the third time that j^ou have publicly 
disowned this Court, and put an affront upon it; how 
far you have preserved the privileges of the people, 
your actions have spoken it; and truly, sir, men’s 
intentions ought to be known by their actions; you 
have written your meaning in bloody characters 
throughout the whole kingdom. But, sir, you un- 
derstand the pleasure of the Court. Clerk, record 
the default ; and, gentlemen, you that took charge 
of the prisoner, take him back again.” 

The King : ‘‘ I will say this one word more to you ; 
if it were my own particular, I would not say any 
more, nor interrupt you.” 

Pkesident : Sir, you have heard the pleasure of 
the Court, and you are (notwithstanding you will not 
understand it) to find that you are before a court of 
justice.” 

On the fifth day of the trial, so called, and on the 
day following, the Court sat not in Westminster Hall, 
as before, but in the Painted Chamber, where they 
heard witnesses. John Ellgood and I were not pres- 
ent, access to the chamber not being so ready as to 
the Hall, but we heard that witnesses, two score 
and more in number, of all ranks and conditions, 
were examined, and testified to certain acts of war 
on the part of the King, beginning with the setting 
up of his standard at Nottingham, and proceeding 
through all parts of the late war. All this, methinks, 
was matter of common notoriety, and might conven- 
iently have been spared. 

On the seventh day of the trial, being the twenty- 


166 


WITH THE KING AT OXFORD. 


seventh of January, we were betimes in the Hall, 
which was crowded beyond all that had been before, 
all being now convinced that this great tragedy was 
drawing to an end. The President was in scarlet, 
having before been habited in black. His Majesty 
came in, covered as before, whereat some of the sol- 
diers that were set on guard cried, ^‘Justice ! Execu- 
tion !” He said, 

I desire a word to be heard, and I hope I shall 
give no occasion for interruption.” 

President : “ You may answer in your time. Hear 
the Court first.” 

The King : I desire to be heard, and ’tis only a 
word. A hasty judgment is not so soon recalled.” 

President: “You shall be heard before judgment 
is given.” 

The President then declared that the Court, having 
considered the crimes laid to the charge of the pris- 
oner, and found them to be proved, were agreed upon 
a sentence to be pronounced against him. But in re- 
spect that he doth desire to be heard before sentence 
be read and pronounced, the Court had resolved that 
they will hear him. Then, turning to the King, he 
said, “If that which you say be to question the 
Court’s jurisdiction, you shall not be heard in it. 
But if you have anything to say in defence of the 
thing charged, the Court has given me a command 
to let you know they will hear you.” 

The King: “ This many a day all things have been 
taken away from me, but that which is dearer to me 
than my life, which is my conscience and my honor. 
If I had respect to my life more than the peace of 
the kingdom and the liberty of the subject, certainly 


OF THE TRIAL OF THE KING. 


167 


I should have made a particular defence for my- 
self ” 

After this he went on to ask that he might be per- 
mitted to say something to the Lords and Commons 
assembled in the Painted Chamber, to whom, lie said, 
he had somewhat of no small import to say. 

The Court withdrew to consider this, but return- 
ing in half an hour’s time, the President said, ’Tis 
an excellent maxim in law, ‘Nulli negabimus, nulli 
vendemus, nulli deferernus justitiam.’ There must 
be no more delay with you, sir. We are now to pro- 
ceed to sentence and judgment.” 

After more disputing of the same sort the Presi- , 
dent commanded silence. Which done, the clerk 
read the sentence, which was: “Whereas the Com- 
mons of England have appointed a Court for the 
trial of Charles Stuart, King of England, and where- 
as a charge of high -treason and other crimes was 
read, the Court doth adjudge that the said Charles 
Stuart, as a tyrant, traitor, murderer, and a public 
enemy, shall be put to death by the severing of his 
head from his body.” 

All the Court stood up to signify their assent. 

The King: “Will you hear me a word, sir?” 

President : “ Sir, you are not to be heard aftei' 
sentence.” 

King : “ Ko, sir ?” 

President: “Ko, sir; by your favor, sir. Guard, 
withdraw your prisoner.” 

King : “ By your favor, sir, hold the sentence.” 

But when nothing availed he said, “ I am not suf- 
fered to speak. Expect what justice other people will 
have.” 


168 


WITH THE KING AT OXFORD. 


While his Majesty was being taken away by the 
guards, as he passed down the stairs the soldiers 
scoffed at him, casting the smoke of their tobacco, 
which was very distasteful unto him, and blowing 
their pipes in his way ; and as he passed there were 
some who cried, Justice, justice !” to whom he said. 
Poor soldiers, for a piece of money they would do 
so for their commanders.” But all the soldiers, though 
they had the Parliament’s pay, were not so minded ; 
for one of them cried — but whether this day or an- 
other I know not — “ God bless the King and when 
his officer struck him with a cane, the King said, Me- 
thinks the punishment is greater than the offence.” 


CHAPTER XIX. 

OF THE KING’S DEATH. 

The sentence of death on the King I had looked 
for, but that it would indeed be executed 1 could not 
believe. But when I said so much to John Ellgood 
I found that he thought otherwise. 

Pliilip,” said lie, “ I have seen more of these men 
than you. Of those who stood in arms against the 
King many desire nothing more than to protect the 
liberties of this realm against him, or, if you would 
rather have it so, against his ill counsellors. These 
at the first prevailed; but ’tis otherwise now. In 
civil troubles the more violent ever gain the upper- 
hand. What befell the more moderate sort we saw 
with our own eyes when Colonel Pride and his men 
laid violent hands upon some fifty members of the 


OF THE KING’S DEATH. 


169 


House of Commons. They that now bear rule, of 
whom the Lieutenant-general Cromwell is the chief, 
are resolved to have no truce with kingship. Wheth- 
er they seek the good of their country or their own 
aggrandizement I know not, but so it is. And they 
know full well that after the King’s death, of truce 
or peace there can be no more talk. On this, there- 
fore, they are steadfastly resolved.” 

“ But the kings,” I said, “ the kings of France and 
Spain, will they suffer it ?” 

I doubt,” answered he, whether they would so 
much as stir a finger to hinder it. But whether they 
would or no, there will be no time or space of action. 
Be sure that execution will follow sentence right 
speedily.” 

And so, indeed, it was. Before three days had 
passed since the pronouncing of the sentence ’twas 
all finished. .Of the kings, too, John Ellgood spake 
but too truly. Their ambassadors said not a word 
to hinder the King’s death. Indeed, the only word 
of remonstrance came, not from a king, but from a 
republic, the States of the Dutch being, by their en- 
voy, very earnest with the Parliament that they should 
not take the King’s life. 

As for our hopes of delivering his Majesty by force 
of arms or stratagem, they were at an end, so closely 
and strongly was the King guarded. Yet were we 
loath to depart, hoping even against hope to the very 
end that the people, ay, and the very soldiers, might 
rise against this monstrous deed. 

Of that which I shall now write down, part I heard 
from the lips of Sir Thomas Herbert, who was gen- 
tleman of the body to the King, and indeed had been 


170 


WITH THE KING AT OXFORD. 


SO from his first surrender by the Scots, and partly 
from a certain Dr. Farrer, a physician who stood very 
near to the scaffold. 

This is the narration of Sir Thomas Herbert : 

‘‘For a while after the King came to London he 
dined publicly in the Presence Chamber, and was 
sers ed after the usual state — the carver, server, cup- 
bearer, and gentleman -usher attending and doing 
their offices — being given on the bended knee. But 
tliis was changed by command of the generals, and 
thereafter the dishes were brought up by soldiers ; 
tlie cup was no longer given upon the knee. At first 
his Majesty was much discomposed, saying that no 
king had ever wanted such observance, and asking, 
^ Is there anything more contemptible than a despised 
])rince?’ But his remedy was to restrict his diet to 
as few dishes as possible, and to eat in private. 

“ Of the trial, if that mockery of justice may be so 
called, there is no need for me to speak. You your- 
selves saw it. You w^uld hear of his Majesty’s be- 
havior in private. On the day when sentence was 
]U’onounced, in the evening, the King gave me a ring 
from his finger (’twas an emerald set between two 
diamonds), and bade me go with it to a lady living in 
King Street, in Westminster (that I knew afterwards 
to be the King’s laundress), and give it to her with- 
out saying anything. Being arrived at the lady’s 
house, I delivered her the ring. She took me into a 
])arlor and there left me, and in a short while re- 
turned with a little cabinet that was closed with three 
seals. The next day, after prayers, which the bishop 
had daily with the King, his Majesty broke the seals 
open and showed us what was contained in it ; there 


OF THE KING’S DEATH. 


171 


Were diamonds and jewels, for the most part broken 
Georges and Garters. ‘You see,’ said he, ‘all the 
wealth now in my power to give to my two chil- 
dren.’ 

“ The next day, being the twenty-ninth day of Jan- 
uary, came the Princess Elizabeth and the Duke of 
Gloucester her brother, to take farewell of the King 
their father, and to ask his blessing. The Princess, 
being the elder, was most sensible of her father’s 
condition, as appeared by her sorrowful look and ex- 
cessive weeping; and her little brother, seeing liis 
sister weep, took the like impression. The King took 
them both upon his knees, and gave them his bless- 
ing, and admonished tliem of their duty to the Prince 
his successor and to their other relations. Then he 
gave them all the jewels, save the George that he 
wore, which was cut in an onyx with great curiosity, 
and was set about with twenty fair diamonds, and 
the like number on the reverse. 

“ That same day the Bishop of London preached 
before the King, taking for his text Komans ii. 16 : 
‘ Of that day when God shall judge the secrets of 
men hy Jesus Christ f and, after the sermon, con- 
tinued with the King till it was some hours past 
dark. 

“After the bishop was gone to his lodging, the 
King continued two hours more in meditation and 
prayer. He then bade me sleep on a pallet by his 
bedside. I took small rest, but the King slept four 
hours, and awaking two hours before dawn, opened 
his curtain to call me. And perceiving that I was 
disturbed in my sleep, for there was a light that 
burned all night, being a cake of wax set in a silver 


172 


WITH THE KING AT OXFORD. 


basin, he called me and bade me rise. ‘ For/ said he, 

‘ L will get up, having a great work to do this day.’ 
In a little while he said, ‘ This is my second marriage- 
day ; I would be as trim to-day as may be, for before 
night I hope to be espoused to my Lord.’ He then 
appointed what clothes he would wear, and said, ‘ Let 
me have a shirt on more than ordinary, by reason 
that the season is so sharp as may probably make me 
quake. I would not have men think it fear. I fear 
not death. I bless God I am prepared.’ 

Then I besought the King’s pardon if I had been 
negligent in my service. After this the King deliv- 
ered me his Bible, in the margin of which he had 
written annotations, and charged me to give it to the 
Prince. He also commanded me to give to the Duke 
of York his large ring sundial of silver, a jewel 
which he had much prized ; and he gave command- 
ment about sundry books to be given to diverse per- 
sons. 

“After this I withdrew, and the King was for 
about an hour in private with the bishop. The bish- 
op read to him, after prayers, the twenty - seventh 
chapter of St. Matthew’s Gospel, which relates the 
passion of our Saviour. The King asked the bishop 
if he had made choice of that chapter as being appli- 
cable to his present condition. The bishop answered, 

‘ May it please your gracious Majesty, it is the proper 
lesson for the day ;’ whereupon the King was much' 
affected. 

“After this. Colonel Hacker knocked at the door, 
and, coming in, said, in a trembling manner, ‘ ’Tis 
time to go to Whitehall, when your Majesty may 
have some further time to rest.’ For a short while 


OF THE KING’S DEATH. 


173 


the King was private, afterwards he took the bishop 
by the hand and said, ^ Let us go and when he liad 
passed through the garden into the park, he took from 
my hand a little silver clock, which he had bidden 
me carry, and gave it to me to keep in memory of 
him. 

There were several companies of horse and foot 
in the park, making a guard on either side as the 
King passed ; and there was also a guard of halberd- 
iers, some going before and some following after; 
and the drums beat, making such a noise that one 
could hardly hear what another spoke. 

Being come to Whitehall, the King passed into 
his bedchamber; and after prayer he bade me bring 
him some bread and wine, which being brought, the 
King broke the manchet and ate a mouthful of it, 
and drank a glassful of claret wine. After that I 
saw the King no more, for I could not bear to look 
upon the violence they would offer him upon the 
scaffold ” 

Here follows what I heard from Master Farrer : 

The King, seeing that his voice could not reach 
the people, spake what was in his mind to the gentle- 
men upon the scaffold, justifying himself for all that 
he had done, save for consenting to the death of my 
Lord Strafford, and forgiving his enemies. While 
he was speaking, one of the gentlemen touched the 
edge of the axe; thereupon the King said, ^ Hurt not 
the axe; that may hurt me.’ 

“ The bishop asked him that, for the world’s satis- 
faction, he would say something of his affection for 
religion. The King said, ^ I die a Christian accord^ 


174 


WITH THE KING AT OXFORD. 


iiig to the profession of the Church of England, as I 
•found it left me by my father.’ Then, turning to 
Colonel Hacker, he said, ‘ Take care tliat they do not 
put me to pain.’ Also to a gentleman that came 
near the axe he said twice, with much earnestness, 
‘ Touch not the axe.’ Then, speaking to the execu- 
tioner, he said, ^ I shall say but very short prayers, 
and after that thrust out my hands.’ 

The bishop said, ^ There is but one stage more. 
This stage is turbulent and troublesome, but you may 
consider it will carry you a very great way ; it will 
carry you from earth to heaven.’ 

Then the King said, ^ I go from a corruptible 
crown to an incorruptible, where no disturbance can 
be.’ 

Then he took off his cloak and his George, giv- 
ing his George to the bishop, and said at the same 
time, ‘ Remember !’ and this done, laid his head upon 
the block ; and I noted that his eye was as quick and 
lively as ever I have seen it.” 

But what I myself saw and heard may be told in 
few words. The scaffold had been made against the 
wall of the Palace of Whitehall, by the banqueting- 
chamber, and the King, coming through one of the 
windows of this same chamber, stepped upon it. It 
was hung about with black, and in the midst was a 
block and an axe, and by the block stood two men 
that had their faces covered with masks. A great 
number of soldiers stood about the scaffold, so that 
the people could not come near it ; but the street and 
the tops of the houses and the windows were filled 
with such a multitude of people as I should think 
had scarcely before been gathered together. I could 


OF MATTERS AT ENSTOXE. 


175 


see the King speaking to them that were on the scaf- 
fold, and to the man that had the axe, and to the bish- 
op that stood by his side. After that 1 could sec 
that he put his hair under his cap, for he had put a 
nightcap on his head, the lieadsman and the bisliop 
helping him. Then he knelt down, and laid his head 
upon the block. This done, there was silence for 
the space of about a minute, and the King stretclied 
out his hands. Thereupon the headsman let fall the 
axe, which with one blow divided the head from the 
body. Then the other man that was masked took 
up the head by the hair, and cried out in a loud voice, 
“ This is the head of a traitor !” to which all the peo- 
ple answered with such a dismal groan as was never 
lieard before. 


CHAPTER XX. 

OF MATTERS AT ENSTONE. 

How we felt, seeing the axe fall upon that sacred 
head, I shall not seek to write. We stood, as it were, 
astonished, looking, it may be, for vengeance to fall 
from heaven on the city that had sufPered such things 
to be done in its midst. After a while, when the 
people were now all dispersed, and the soldiers be- 
gan to look as if they would question them that still 
tarried, we went very sadly to our lodging, and there 
debated between ourselves what it were best to do. 
Our errand in London was now at an end ; nor had 
we the desire to tarry there any longer; and indeed 
so to do had imperilled our lives, or, at the least, our 


176 


WITH THE KING AT OXFORD. 


liberty. For it was manifest that they who had slain 
the King were determined to make an end of the 
business; and whom, indeed, having done such a deed, 
were they like to spare ? I say not that they used 
their power with cruelty. ’Tis not so; rather they 
showed more mercy than could have been reasonably 
looked for. Yet this was afterwards to be proved ; 
the danger for the present seemed imminent. 

On the fourth day of February, therefore, John 
Ellgood and I departed from London, habited in 
Koundhead fashion for greater security of travelling. 
But there was no watch kept on them that would 
leave London, so we met with none to question us on 
our road. We travelled on foot, a mode that suit- 
ed the slenderness of our purses, and also lent itself 
more readily to secrecy, for a man can hide himself 
when he cannot hide his horse ; and on the third day 
came to our journey’s end. 

We found Dorothy and her husband in no little 
trouble ; not yet, indeed, dispossessed, but almost daily 
expecting so to be. 'At supper Master Blagrove set 
forth to us how his affairs stood. 

“ I doubt,” said he, ‘‘ but that the end is well-nigh 
come; and, indeed, I marvel, not without thankful- 
ness, that it has been delayed so long; 

“ ‘ Quern SOTS dierum cunque dabit lucro A'p'pone,'^ 

as the poet Horace has it. And indeed I have had 
many days that have been denied to my neighbors. 
But for more I can scarce hope. The good knight, 
my patron, is in disgrace with the powers that be, and 


* “Reckon for gain whatever days Fate shall give thee.' 


OF MATTERS AT ENSTONE. 


177 


can scarce keep himself out of prison, much less help 
his friends. Therefore, I am looking every day for 
a summons, and can but pray for God’s grace to help 
me play valiantly a confessor’s part.” 

And even while he was speaking his expectation 
was fulfilled, for there came a loud knocking at the 
door, and soon after a message brought into the par- 
lor, which the little country-maid could scarce deliver 
for fear, that a constable would speak with the pai'- 
son. 

‘^Let him come in hither,” quoth my brother, 
whereupon the constable comes into the parlor. He 
was a rough fellow and given to some insolence of 
speech ; but now he was civil enough, partly, maybe, 
seeing he had to do with them that could presently 
chastise any liberty of speech, and partly, I do be- 
lieve, because he was ashamed to show rudeness to so 
gracious a woman as was my sister Dorothy, and to 
Master Blagrove, that was honored both for courtesy 
and learning through the whole country-side. He 
now delivered a brief to my brother, excusing his 
coming as a matter of necessity ; and so, having first 
drnnk a cup of ale to onr health, which he did though 
’twas against his principles, presently departed. 

The brief summoned my brother to appear the day 
following at ten of the clock in the forenoon, at a tav- 
ern in Enstone, before certain commissioners therein 
named, there to answer sundry charges made against 
his doctrine and manner of life. We had much talk 
about the matter, sitting up together till near upon 
midnight, but there was small comfort to be got con- 
cerning it, and I could see that my brother had no 
hope of a good ending. 


12 


178 


WITH THE KING AT OXFORD. 


The next day when he came back from the sit- 
ting of the Court (which was not. till about three of 
the clock in tlie afternoon), he seemed somewhat 
more cheerful of aspect ; but Dorothy crying to him, 
Things, then, are better than you looked for,” he 
said, Nay, sweet love, ’tis only that I am easier in 
my mind, as a man will be, after long battling for 
life, when sentence has been pronounced, even though 
it be sentence of death. But hear my tale. As for 
the goodly list of commissioners, ’twas, as I expected, 
all moonshine. There was not present one gentleman 
of birth and education. Timothy Fenn, the miller, 
whom they had chosen for their president, was as 
good a man as any ; and Timothy, as yon know, 
though passably honest, is not a shining light either 
for wit or knowledge. Others were rude fellows that 
could scarce put their names to a paper, and one or 
two had been, to my knowledge, in time past men of 
evil life ; what they are I know not, but they were, I 
noted, especially bitter against ineo But now for their 
doings. First, they examined me concerning doctrine. 
Were I to tell you what they said, what questions 
they asked, and in what wny they received my an- 
swers, ’twould sound as a foolish jest. Let it suflSce to 
say that there was not one that knew a word of Greek 
or even of Latin. When I quoted a few words of 
this last they took it as an affront, though it was but 
a common saw that every lawyer, and many a one 
that is no lawyer, has on the tip of his tongue. When 
I offered to prove that I had taught nothing but what 
was agreeable to Holy Scripture and the Fathers, 
they stopped me peremptorily. ‘ As for the Fathers, 
we desire to hear nothing of such Papistical writers; 


OF MATTERS AT ENSTONE. 


179 


but as for Scripture it is not you but we that must 
be judges of what agrees thereto/ But these ques- 
tions kept them but a little while, and indeed they 
were not at their ease in them. 

“ After this they proceeded to examine me about 
certain things in my life and conversation. I mar- 
velled what charges would be brought against me, 
for, though I am not blameless, God knows, yet I 
have always walked soberly and discreetly, even de- 
nying myself in what I judged to be lawful recrea- 
tions, that I might not give offence to any; for I 
know that in these times any stick is good enough 
to beat a dog withal, especially if the dog be a poor 
parson. 

“ ^ We are credibly informed,’ says Master Presi- 
dent, ^ that you have been seen coursing hares on the 
Sabbath-day. What say you to this V 

For a while I could say nothing, having no re- 
membrance of anything that could be made to bear 
such a color; but at the last I remembered something 
that might by great malice and ingenuity be so inter- 
preted. My brother going -abroad after Naseby fight, 
gave me a greyhound to keep, and though I cared 
not much for the beast, this kind of dog having but 
little in him of wit or of affection, I received him for 
his master’s sake. Well, walking abroad one Sunday 
evening, for the poor creature had been kept at home 
for some days by ill weather, a hare chanced to cross 
my path, which the dog, almost before I could speak 
his name, had caught and killed. I thought that 
none had been offended in the matter, save, maybe, 
my patron, and his pardon I had when I confessed 
my offence to him. Master President looked mighty 


180 


WITH THE KING AT OXFORD. 


grave when I told my story, and said that the Court 
would consider it. 

“ After this breaks in another commissioner with, 
^ We have been informed. Master Parson, that you 
were seen to stand by a bonfire some three years 
since.’ 

‘ ’Tis true,’ said I, ^ I do remember hearing. a great 
shouting in the village ; I went forth and found three 
parts, as I should guess, of my parishioners assembled 
about a bonfire, but I had no other concern with it.’ 

^ Know you not,’ said the commissioner, ^ that 
there is something superstitious and Papistical about 
bonfires V 

‘ This, at the least,’ said I, ‘ was not Papistical, for 
’twas lighted on the fifth of November, and the peo- 
ple had burned— for so I heard, being myself too late 
to see it — the effigies of the Pope of Rome.’ 

“ Then another commissioner had his turn at mec 
^ We have heard that you suffer your children to play 
at cards for pins. Is this so ?’ 

“ ^ Am I bound,’ said I, ^ to answer any question to 
my own damage ?’ (For I was minded to have a lit- 
tle sport with them.) 

“ ^ We shall know how to interpret your silence,’ 
says Master President. 

^‘^Nay, then,’ said I, ‘if I must answer, I will. 
Children I have not, but one child only, a babe of 
six months only, who, I warrant you, so careful a 
mother has he — has never so much as had a pin in 
his fingers. And as for cards, he knows no more of 
such things than you yourself. Master Commissioner,’ 
at which speech he reddened, having been not so long 
since, tiU he found his account in other ways, a noted 


OF MATTERS AT ENSTONE. 


181 


card-player and gamester,, To make a long matter 
short, they made out no case agamst me, for all that 
they brought every good-for-nothing fellow in the 
whole country-side to give testimony against me. But 
I build not on this ; I know right well that sentence 
was passed on me before ever I came into court.” 

And so, indeed, it turned out. Two days after my 
brother was summoned by the commissioners to ap- 
pear before them, and received sentence of depriva- 
tion, but to have as a solatium one fifth part of the 
proceeds of the living. This fifth part, I should here 
say, he never received, for the intruding minister al- 
leged that he had some temporal means of his own, 
and that he had but one child (which was true, but 
scarce relevant, seeing that one child must eat as well 
as two), and that he himself could scarce get any- 
thing of tithes ; which also I believe, for the farmers, 
who love not paying tithes at any time, were more 
especially set against them when they were to be re- 
ceived by the intruding minister. 

My brother had angered some of the commissioners 
by the freedom of his answering, and receiving warn- 
ing that he had best be absent when the sentence was 
executed, went into hiding in a neighbor’s house. The 
next day comes the constable, with some soldiers at 
his back, with a warrant to apprehend his person, and 
was greatly enraged when he found that the bird was 
fiown. He and his fellows had at the best but little 
civility in them, and this they had done their best to 
banish by too plentiful cups, and indeed they behaved 
themselves more like savages than Christian men. 
They searched the house through for my brother, 
the constable running his sword two or three times 


182 


WITH THE KING AT OXFORD. 


through the bed from which my sister was but newly 
risen (for they came before seven o’clock in the fore- 
noon), pretending that he might be there hidden. All 
the stores in the house they wasted most cruelly, spoil- 
ing that which they could not carry away. Indeed, 
they were bent on insult rather than plunder. Thus 
the troopers pulled the bridles off their horses, and 
whipped them round die garden to tread all under- 
foot. After that they brake open the barn door and 
turned them into the sacks of corn to fill their bellies. 
Indeed, they would have burned the barn and all the 
hay and corn, but that the neighbors liindered them, 
fearing the fire for their own stack-yards. Nor would 
these suffer them to profane the church, which they 
would have done under cover of destroying Papistical 
ornaments. Verily, I know not what these savages 
would have left undone but for the singular affection 
which the people had for my brother, who, indeed, 
had well discharged his priest’s office among them 
since his coming into the parish, ministering without 
wearying both to their souls and bodies. Many of 
his brethren suffered worse things than he, especially 
in the cruelties that were wrought upon their wives 
and children, for these poor creatures were ofttimes 
driven out of their homes in the very depth and se- 
verity of winter, and forced to find such shelter as 
they could in barns and stables, and to liv’e upon any 
broken victuals which they could beg or pick up, rob- 
bing the very swine. I know that the clergy whicli 
suffered such things were not blameless. Some had 
borne themselves haughtily and wantonly in the day 
of their prosperity, as lords of God’s heritage rather 
than as sliepherds of the flock; and some had been 


OF MY ADVENTURES AT SEA. 


183 


careless livers, or worse, tippling at ale-houses, or wan- 
dering about the country to bull-baiting, and village 
feasts, and church ales, where they brought the name 
of the Church into great disrepute. That these were 
rightly dispossessed I deny not. Such men are not 
wmrthy to labor in the garden of the Lord. But many 
pious men also suffered for naught else than that they 
kept that which they had vowed and promised. And 
when they wdio are now trodden underfoot shall get 
the upper hand, as I doubt not they will — before we 
that are now young are come to middle-age — they, I 
fear me, will use the same cruelty. So does wrong 
beget wrong, and hatreds are stored up for the time 
to come that many generations shall not exhaust. I 
pray God that he may give my countrymen a better 
mind. 


CHAPTER XXL 
OF MY ADVENTURES AT SEA. 

It was but some three weeks after these things 
that my dear mother died. I w’ould not lay her 
death to the door even of these cruel men, for his 
certain that she had declined from the very begin- 
ning of her widowhood; but I cannot doubt that 
Irer end was hastened by grief and trouble. Not- 
withstanding, she passed away in great peace and 
comfort, having as lively a faith in the world to 
come — and in her meeting again with those whom 
in this world she had lost — as was ever seen in 
Christian woman. After her death, which took 
place in the house of the worthy neighbor who had 


184 


WITH THE KING AT OXFORD. 


given shelter to my brother’s family at the first, my 
sister and her child took up their dwelling with 
John Yickers, which worthy man, whose kindness 
and truth I cannot suflSciently praise, most hospita- 
bly entertained her. Notwithstanding, she judged it 
best for her greater safety from molestation to lay 
aside her estate as a gentlewoman and to labor with 
her hands in the house and dairy. She told me af- 
terwards that the good John was much troubled and 
distressed at her so humbling herself, and would doff 
his cap and show other courtesy to her which did 
contrast very strangely with her lowly dress, till by 
slow degrees and with much unwillingness he learned 
to behave himself in a more suitable fashion. 

Meanwhile, John Ellgood, having departed for his 
home, where his father much needed his presence. 
Master Blagrove and I set out for London, desiring 
there to settle some urgent affairs. Ho had some 
small property, for which he was desirous to make 
composition, and I was minded to do the same for 
my father’s estate, if this could by any means be con- 
trived. And liere we met with an adventure which 
shall now be told. 

We went on a certain afternoon to the Strand, 
purposing to visit my cousin Master Rush worth, of 
whom I have spoken before. We found him but 
half recovered of a sickness, but hearty in spirit and 
as kind as ever he was. Indeed, 1 marvelled a little 
at the praises which he and his wife heaped upon 
me. If they were to be believed, there had never 
been so well-behaved and admirable a boy. I did 
not remember myself to have possessed so many 
virtues, and indeed could bring to mind not a few 


OF MY ADVENTURES AT SEA. 


185 


reproofs which these good people had administered 
to me for sundry misdoings, ay, and prophecies that, 
unless I amended my ways, I should bring shame on 
all my kindred. Now this was all forgotten, and 
the good only remembered, a fault of memory, doubt- 
less, but one which may easily be pardoned. 

We stayed somewhat late with Master Eushworth 
over a flask of canary, which he would have replen- 
ished again and again had we suffered it. ’Twas 
ten of the clock, or thereabouts, when we set out for 
our lodging, which was in Westminster, and the 
street was almost deserted. We had scarce walked 
a hundred yards westward when there ran out upon 
us a company of fellows attired as sailors. I was 
unarmed save for a stout staff which I had in my 
hand, and my brother had not even 'SO much; and 
we were also taken unawares, so that I had but time 
to strike one blow for my liberty. Even so, being 
very fleet of foot, I might have escaped, but could 
not in honor leave my companion, who was an older 
man, and of a student’s habit, which, as all know, is 
ill fitted for bodily exercise. Hence the fellows laid 
hold upon us without much difficulty, and clapping 
handcuffs upon our hands, and gags in our mouths, 
had us at their mercy. They then carried us to a 
wherry, and so conveyed us to a ship which lay 
moored near the farther bank of the river, about 
lialf a mile below London Bridge. Being there ar- 
rived, and hoisted on to the deck, they took the gags 
from our mouths and lowered us into the hold. That 
we had company even in this place was easy to be 
told, for we heard the snoring of sleepers, and some 
round oaths also from some one over whom, not know- 


186 


WITH THE KING AT OXFORD. 


ing where we were, we stumbled ; but how many they 
were and of what sort we knew not, it being pitch 
dark. Thus we disposed ourselves as best we could, 
and, after the manner of St. Paul and his shipmates, 
wished for the morning.” When it was light, or 
as raucli liglit as the nature of the place permitted, 
and we could examine our company, we were not 
over- well pleased. There were some thirty in all, as 
villanous a set of jail-birds, the most of them, as ever 
was gathered together. Two or three, indeed, were, 
as we afterwards learned, of a more honest sort, but 
the rest, it was manifest, were the very offscourings 
of the prisons. Says one of them, a tall, stout fel- 
low, that seemed to be a sort of captain among them, 

“ Come, friends, tell us how we came to have the 
honor of your company. Was it for lifting a purse, 
or breaking into a house, or cracking a man’s skull ?” 

Before I could answer he caught sight of my 
brother’s clergyman’s habit, and stirring with his foot 
one of the company that lay with his face to the wall, 
said, 

Parson, here is one of thy cloth ; up and bid him 
welcome to this meeting of good fellows.” 

The man raised himself and turned his face to us, 
a more wretched countenance than ever I had seen 
before. 

“ I could not have believed,” he said, that there 
was any one in the world so wretched as I ; yet, to 
judge from your habit, you are my fellow in misery. 
I have been sent down into this hell upon earth for 
no other offence save that I am a priest of the Church 
of England.” 

lie then went on to tell us his history. He had, 


OF MY ADVENTURES AT SEA. 


18 ^ 


like thousands of others, been dispossessed of his liv- 
ing, and this with such circumstances of cruelty as 
cost him the life of his wife, who at the time of his 
expulsion was lain-in, but a few days before, of her 
first child. Afterwards, coming to London to see if 
he could make a livelihood by teaching, he had been 
kidnapped as we had been. 

“ But what,” I inquired of him, will they do 
with us 

“We are bound,” said he, “for the plantations. 
^Tis a monstrous thing that innocent men should be 
so dealt with. I do not say, for I woujd not be un- 
just for all my misery, that they who are in author- 
ity know of these doings. I judge that they do not. 
But they are careless, they make no inquiry. It mat- 
ters not to them if there be some score of malig- 
nants the less to trouble them with their complaints, 
or to plot against them ; so much the better. Hence 
the villains who carry on this business are embold- 
ened to lay their hands upon us. Their occupation 
is to find laborers for the plantations in the Indies ; 
and for each of these that they bring out they re- 
ceive so many pounds sterling; how many I know 
not, but I take it that it is a considerable sum. They 
seek their recruits first in the jails. When these are 
overcrowded, and they never were crowded more than 
now, all England being overrun with disbanded sol- 
diers, they find a plentiful supply. The magistrates, 
partly for gain and partly for humanity’s sake, hand 
over to them some that had else rotted in prison or 
stretched the hangman’s rope, but if the tale be short, 
then they must make it up elsewhere ; nor do they 
care at all how they come by their merchandise.” 


188 


WITH THE KING AT OXFORD. 


This was dismal hearing, and would have thrown 
us into despair had we had more leisure to think of 
it. As it was, we were fully occupied with the mis- 
eries of our present position. A more deplorable con- 
dition than ours it was scarce possible to conceive. 
For food we had biscuit, mouldy and full of weevils, 
and had it been more eatable, insufficient in quantity. 
Salted beef was also given to us, harder than ever I 
thought beef could be. Of water we had a suffi- 
cient quantity, a great barrel being set in the hold, 
over which one of the company, deputed to that of- 
fice by his fellows, kept guard. This was the chief 
belightening of our lot. In another respect, also, its 
hardship was somewhat mitigated. At the first we 
suffered much from the hideousness of the oaths and 
blasphemy and foul language of every kind which 
we heard from our companions. Having borne this 
for a day I resolved within myself to see whether I 
could not mend it. With this purpose in view I said 
to the captain, as I may call him, “ I like not this 
talking. Will you please to change it 

Who are you,” said he, that pretend to order 
our behavior? As you like it not, you can depart 
whither you will or can.” 

Captain,” said I, for so we called him, though he 
had never been more than a captain of thieves, “ I 
would choose, if it may be, to be your friend rather 
than your foe. And you too, if you are wise, will 
choose the same. But I make this condition of 
peace, that there be no foul language or oaths, which 
in this narrow space reach to ears for which doubt- 
less they are not intended.” 

At this one of the captain’s friends, a fellow of the 


OF MY ADVENTURES AT SEA. 


189 


sort that love always to play jackal to a lion, brake 
rudely in upon me with, ^ I know not whether your 
ears be daintier than other men’s, but certainly they 
are longer.” 

I had resolved to have the matter out, if need 
were, with the captain himself, and did not doubt but 
that, being expert in manly exercises, and sound in 
health and wind, I should get the better of him. 
Nevertheless, I would willingly have avoided such a 
conflict, knowing that it might leave ill blood be- 
hind. So when this rude fellow interrupted me I 
saw an occasion of showing my strength which might 
serve my purpose better than giving the captain act- 
ual experience of it. Turning, therefore, upon the 
fellow I caught him by the collar of his coat, and 
held him out for some space of time at arm’s-length, 
which, as all who have tried such an action know, is 
no easy matter. When I put the man down, the 
captain stretched out his hand to me and said. 

You are right, good sir, we will be friends rather 
than foes, and you shall have your way in this mat- 
ter of talking. And hark ye, my friends,” he said, 
turning to the others, ^^he that speaks an ill word 
hereafter in this place must reckon with me.” 

This habit of foul speaking, like other ill habits, 
is not broken in a day, and the captain himself, who 
indeed had been wont to garnish his speech with as 
strange a variety of oaths as ever were heard from 
mortal tongue, was a frequent offender. But he was 
not, therefore, the less severe upon others, and be- 
fore long there was a visible amendment. Then, 
again, we two and the two or three others of the 
better sort of whom I have already written, used our 


190 


WITH THE KING AT OXFORD. 


best endeavors to put something more edifying in 
the place of the thieves’ stories with which these 
poor wretches were accustomed to entertain each 
other. They were, as may be readily supposed, whol- 
ly ignorant of all that it concerned them as English- 
men to know of the history of this realm ; of gallant 
deeds that Iiave been done by our countrymen on 
sea and land they had not so much as heard. Yet 
they listened eagerly enough to stories of such things, 
and were never wearied of hearing the tale of King 
Alfred fighting against the Danes, and of Harold, 
at whose defeat by the Conqueror they murmured 
loudly, and of the Black Prince at Cressy and Poic- 
tiers. With such narratives we kept them quiet and 
orderly, and my brother in particular, who had a 
most pleasant voice, gained such a mastery over them 
that when he proposed that they should say a few 
prayers with him both morning and evening, there 
was not a man to say him “ Nay,” and indeed at the 
end of a week’s time he had a most respectful con- 
gregation. 

How long we remained in this condition I cannot 
exactly say, for night and day were scarce to be dis- 
tinguished in that place, but I consider it to have 
been as much as six weeks. That we were journey- 
ing south we knew from the heat, which had much 
increased, so that the place was scarce endurable. 
We had, indeed, besought the men that brought us 
our provisions (which they lowered from above) that 
they would give us some more air, but had besought 
in vain, and were even thinking of getting by force 
Mdiat was then cruelly denied, when there happened 
that which made our schemes superfluous. 


OF MY ADVENTURES AT SEA. 


191 


One night the wind began to rise (hitherto we had 
had extraordinary fine weather)^^ and increased so 
much that we were tossed about in a most dangerous 
fashion. The seams of the ship also began to open 
and to let in water, so that our condition became al- 
most intolerable. The next day the hatches were 
opened, as they had never been opened before since 
our coming down on board, and a ladder was let 
down into the hold. Come,” cried one from above, 
unless you would die like rats in a hole.” We 
needed no second bidding, and indeed for the last 
two hours the water had been increasing upon us in 
most threatening fashion. No sooner had we reached 
the deck than we saw that the ship was lower in the 
water than promised well for her safety. And in- 
deed, what with the lowering sky and the waves, that 
were like mountains on every side of us, the prospect 
was gloomy, and it seemed that we had recovered 
our liberty only that we might perish. Neverthe- 
less, we thought it better to die in the open air and 
in the light, even as Ajax the Greater prays to Jupi- 
ter, “ Slay me, so it be in the light.” Says the man 
that had let down the ladder, whom we now found 
to be the mate, “ Come, my friends, if you would see 
land again set your hands to the pumpSc” This we 
did with a good will and with such strength as w^as 
still left us by our imprisonment and scanty diet. 
For a time we lost rather than gained, and it seemed 
as if our days were numbered ; but as it grew towards 
evening, the wind abated and the sea fell, so that it 
brake not over the ship as before. By good-fortune 
also the carpenter discovered the principal leak and 
repaired it, so that about an hour after sunset, by 


193 


WITH THE KING AT OXFORD. 


which time, indeed, we were well-nigh spent with 
labor, we had respite from pumping, and ate the 
supper which the mate had caused to be prepared 
for us. ’Twas no very luxurious banquet, but ’twas 
royal fare to us, and we feasted with as good an ap- 
petite as ever men had in this world. While we sat 
at meal the mate told us what had happened. 

We had, you must know,” he said, “ but one boat, 
and that would contain but two parts of the crew. 
Well, when it appeared this morning that the ship 
could hardly swim much longer, and there seemed 
no sign of the weather abating, the captain contrived 
that the carpenter and I and three more of us should 
go below, if we might chance to find any of the leaks. 
And while we were gone, he and the others lowered 
the boat, which was already fitted and provisioned, 
and so departed. A villain I knew him to be, but 
had not thought him capable of such wickedness. 
But I reckon that he has made a mistake, for all his 
cunning. I had ten times sooner be here, things be- 
ing as they are, than in the boat with him.” 

And indeed the mate was right, for the captain 
and the rest of the crew were never heard of more. 

The next day the sea was as calm as though it 
were a pond, and the sky without a cloudo I asked 
the mate whereabouts, in his judgment, we were. 

God only knows,” he said. The captain took the 
reckoning, and he has the instruments with him, for I 
cannot find them. But I remember him to have said 
the day before the storm that we were about four 
hundred miles from our journey’s end. But I reckon 
that we must now be more than that, the wind for the 
last day having blown very strongly from the west.” 


OF MY ADVENTURES AT SEA. 


193 


What then,” said I, “ would you have us do 
I think that we had best sail westward, for, even 
if we have been driven back two hundred miles or 
more, the nearest land must still lie in that quarter. 
We will rig up a jury-mast ” (for both the ship’s masts 
had been lost in the storm), and sail as best we may; 
but I must confess that my great hope is in falling in 
with some ship that may help us.” 

But we were not yet past all our troubles. That 
rascal whom I have called the captain,” and some 
of his fellows, having found where the spirits were 
kept, brake open the place and helped themselves to 
the liquor. Inflamed by drinking, they conceived the 
plan (flrst hatched, I believe, in the brain of the fel- 
low with whom I had the passage of arms before de- 
scribed) of making themselves masters of the ship 
and taking to the trade of buccaneers or pirates, be- 
tween whom, I take it, there is no great distinction. 
Accordingly they seize the mate in his bed, to which, 
after I know not how many days’ toil and watching, 
he had betaken himself for a few hours’ rest, bring 
over the remainder of the crew to their side by threats 
and promises, and clap those of the company whom 
they had no hope of persuading into the hold again. 

I must confess that at this ill turn of fortune I be- 
gan to despair, but found comfort where I had least 
expected it. For now the poor parson, of whose dole- 
ful countenance I have before written, plays the part 
of a St. Paul. 

“ Be of good cheer,” says he, “ for I am persuaded 
that He who has helped us so far will not now desert 
us. I was as downcast as you now are, and God 
sent you to cheer me up. Let me do the same office 
13 


194 


WITH THE KING AT OXFORD. 


now for yon, for I have learned that to despair is 
nothing less than a sin against God.” 

And sure enough the good man was in the right. 
We had not been in our prison more than three or 
four hours when we overheard a loud noise as of 
talking and tramping of feet overhead, and not long 
after, to our great joy, saw the hatches thrown open 
and were released from our duress. What had hap- 
pened may be briefly told. 

The mutineers had scai’ce made themselves mas- 
ters of the ship when there hove in sight a strange 
sail, which, by great good-forture, or, I should rather 
say, by God’s kind providence, was a Dutcli man-of- 
war. She was heading right for us, and the villains, 
having but a poor pretence of mast and sail, had no 
chance of escape. The Dutchman seeing a vessel in 
distress, as was evident from our appearance, sends 
one of his officers on board. The villains speak him 
fair, and tell a plausible tale, which, but for the 
carpenter, might have deceived him. But the car- 
penter, who had given in to the mutineers only for 
fear of his life, whispers in the officer’s ear that he 
had best inquire further. And so the whole truth 
comes out. 

The mutineers, having some bold fellows among 
them, would, I doubt not, have made a fight for the 
mastery, but were so ill armed that they durst not 
venture. To make my story short, when the Dutch 
captain came on board and had heard how matters 
stood, he came to this conclusion. 

The ship, which was but a rotten craft before, and 
is now damaged by the storm beyond repair, I shall 
take leave to scuttle. As for the villains they would 


OF MY ADVENTURES AT SEA. 


195 


bnt meet with their proper deserts were I to leave 
them to sink with her or hang them from my yard- 
arm. But I care not to have their blood upon my 
soul. Yet I should be doing but an ill turn to man- 
kind were I to take them back to Europe. It seems 
to me, therefore, the best course to leave them on 
some uninhabited island, of which there is more than 
one in these seas, where they may earn their bread 
by tilling the soil, or, if it please them better, cut 
each other’s throats. As for you, gentlemen, I shall 
be happy to give you a passage back to Holland, to 
which country I am now bound.” 

And this he did. Never was a more courteous 
host, or guests who were better pleased with their 
entertainment. I had much talk with the good man 
during the voyage, which, the wind being often light 
and baffling, occupied near upon two months, and 
among other things related to him the story of my 
life. And this, by his counsel, I have now written 
down. 


196 


WITH THE KING AT OXFOHD. 


EPILOGUE. 

Rotterdam, May 1, 1660. 

’Tis about eleven years since I wrote in this book 
of how I had been with the King at Oxford, and of 
other things which grew out of the same. And now if 
any one should desire to know how I and others of 
whom mention has been made in this writing have 
since fared, I will in a very few words here set it forth. 

Being brought to Holland after my escape from 
the kidnappers, as related in the chapter last writ- 
ten, and seeking some means of earning my bread, I 
chanced to meet with a certain merchant of Rot- 
terdam, Richard Daunt by name, who, having satis- 
fied himself that I was a man of decent conversation 
and sufficient scholarship, would have me come to 
him as a tutor to his sons. “And you shall find,” 
he said, “ others of our nation at Rotterdam who 
will gladly put their children in your charge.” To 
this I was willing enough to hearken ; nor have I 
ever repented that I did so, having found in Master 
Daunt and his fellows at Rotterdam as good friends 
as a man could desire to have. 

About a 3^ear after my going to Rotterdam, the 
charge of minister to the congregation of English 
merchants in that city fell vacant, by the cession of 
Master Richard Chalfont, some time Fellow of Lin- 
coln College, by whose good word, many of the con- 
gregation also favoring, I had from the committee 


EPILOGUE. 


197 


the promise of the succession, if only I could ob- 
tain Holy Orders. This agreed well with what had 
always been iny desire, and I determined to seek 
Orders from some bishop in England, if only one 
could be found able and willing to give them;. for 
this, in the distress of the times, could not be with 
certainty counted upon. I knew of none in England 
from whom I could get better information and ad- 
vice than Master Ellgood. To him, therefore, I re- 
solved to resort, not, it will readily be believed, with- 
out the thought present in my mind of seeing again 
my dear Cicely ; for it had been long understood 
that we were to be married so sogn as I had reason- 
able prospect of maintaining a wife. Master Ell- 
good behaved himself most friendly to me. When I 
asked him about the obtaining of Orders, he said, 

“ ’Tis not impossible. My Lord of Oxford, or, to 
speak more agreeably with tlie spirit of the times. 
Dr. Robert Skinner, has license to give them, or, I 
should rather say, having friends among them that 
are in power, is winked at in so doing.” 

Hearing this, I expounded to the good man my 
hopes and plans, which he encouraged, knowing that 
I had for a long time cherished this design. 

‘^The charge at Rotterdam,” said I, ^‘is worth 
eighty pounds by the year, and I can add as much 
more by the teaching of English boys in that city, 
for which employment I shall have ample time. If, 
then, I can satisfy the bishop of my fitness (of which 
I have a good hope), after having received Orders 
from him, I will ask you to give me your daughter 
Cicely in marriage.” 

I like not,” said he, “ that a priest should marry, 


198 


WITH THE KING AT OXFORD. 


nor can I give my consent that he should marry a 
daughter of mine.” 

’Twas as if a thunderbolt had fallen upon me 
when I heard him say these words. Cicely, too, for 
she was present at our conference, grew suddenly 
pale. 

Nay, my good sir,” I said, how can that be ? 
Does not St. Paul say that a bishop should be ‘ the 
husband of one wife?’” 

“ I am not so careless a student of holy Scripture,” 
answered he, as to have overlooked that text. Yet, 
having studied Christian antiquity with all the dili- 
gence that I could use, I could never find one in- 
stance in which a priest (to which I take the word 
‘ bishop’ to be here equal) has contracted matrimony. 
But that married men have been ordained priests 
and deacons I know full well, and this, which indeed 
is the custom of the Greek Church, I take to be the 
apostle’s meaning. So, then, if you are willing to 
marry my daughter before ordination, I refuse not 
my consent, but rather give it, and my blessing with 
it, most willingly.” 

At this, which the good man said not without a 
certain twinkle in his eye. Cicely, if she had been 
pale before, grew red ; but was not so displeased but 
that when I reached out my hand to hers and took 
it she suffered it to remain. 

The next day I set out for Launton, where Dr. 
Skinner had his charge, in which, indeed, he had not 
been disturbed. With him I sojourned three days, 
and, after being closely examined in my knowledge 
of Scripture and other matters with which a clergy- 
man should have some acquaintance, received from 


EPILOGUE. 


m 

him a promise, which he put in writing for the satis- 
faction of Master Ellgood, that he would presently 
admit me both to deacon’s and priest’s orders. 

In two weeks’ time after my return from the 
bishop my sweet Cicely and I were married, first by 
a neighboring magistrate (for so marriages were per- 
formed at that time), and after by one of the dispos- 
sessed clergy, that was chaplain to one of the gen- 
try in those parts, Master Ellgood saying that he was 
still, however worthy, under ecclesiastical censure, and 
could perform no spiritual function. And again, 
in two weeks more I was ordained deacon by Dr. 
Skinner, and, being of full age, because it would 
not be convenient for me to come again to England, 
priest on the day following. I thank my God that 
he gave me his two best gifts, a good calling in life 
and a good helpmeet Verily they are gifts of 
which I have not repented me for a moment, though 
I must confess that I am scarce worthy of them. 

My Cicely’s father has lived with us since our 
marriage, busying himself with books and with good 
works. John Ellgood has risen to a high place in 
the Stadtholder’s service. 

My brother-in-law has for the last ten years been 
chaplain to my Lord Brandon, and has found under 
his protection both safety and comfort. 

It is now, I hear, a settled thing that monarchy 
shall be restored in England. I could wish that 
there were a better report of the new king. That 
he will avoid his father’s faults I doubt not, for ’tis 
his settled resolve, as has often been heard from his 
mouth, to die King of England, and he will not im- 
peril his crown by obstinacy or self-will. But he is 


^00 WITH TH^ KING AT OXFORD. 

lacking in his father’s best virtues, and ’tis much to 
be doubted whether England will get much advan- 
tage from his coining back. But God can overrule all 
things for good, and ’twere lack of faith to doubt 
that he will. 


FLY-RODS AND FLY-TACKLE. 

Suggestions as to their Manufacture and Use. By Heney 
P. Wells. Illustrated, pp. 364. Post 8vo, Illumi- 
nated Cloth, $2 50. 

Mr. Wells has devoted more time and attention to the materials used in 
fly-fishing than any person we know of, and his experience is well set forth 
in this most valuable book. * * * The author is an amateur rod-maker who 
has experimented with every wood known to rod manufacturers, as well as 
with some that are not known to them, and therefore he is an undoubted 
authority on the subject. This chapter and the one following, which gives 
directions in rod-making, forms the most perfect treatise on rods extant. 
* * * The book is one of great value, and will take its place as a standard 
authority on all points of which it treats, and we cannot commend it too 
highly. — Forest and Stream^ N. Y. 

Since Izaak Walton lingered over themes piscatorial, we have learned to 
expect, in all essays on the gentle art of angling, a certain daintiness and 
elegance of literary form as well as technical utility. Publisher and author 
have co-operated to meet these traditional requirements in “Ply-Rods and 
Fly-Tackle.” * * * Mr. Wells’s competence to expound the somewhat in- 
tricate principles and delicate processes of fly-fishing will be plain to any 
reader who himself has some practical acquaintance with the art discussed. 
The value of the author’s instructions and suggestions is signally enhanced 
by their minuteness and lucidity. — N. Y. Sun. 

A complete manual for the ambitious lover of fishing for trout. * * * All 
lovers of fly-fishing should have Mr. Wells’s book in their outfit for the 
sport that is near at hand. — Philadelphia Bulletin. 

Mr. Wells reveals to us the mysteries of lines, leaders, and reels, rods, 
rod material, and rod-making. He lets us into the secret of making re- 
pairs, and gives all due directions for casting the fly. * * * Moreover, Mr. 
Wells writes in an attractive style. There is a certain charm in the heart- 
iness and grace wherewith he expresses his appreciation of those beauties 
of nature which the angler has so unlimited an opportunity of enjoying. 
Thus what may be called not only a technical, but also a scientific, knowl- 
edge of his subject is combined with a keen delight in hill, stream, and for- 
est for the sake of the varied loveliness they display. — N. Y. Telegram. 

A book of practical hints about the manufacture and use of anglers’ 
gear. Fish-hooks, lines, leaders, rods and rod-making, repairs, flies and 
fly-fishing, are among the important subjects discussed with great fulness. 
The essay on “Casting the Fly” and “Miscellaneous Suggestions” are 
rich in points for beginners. It is to the latter, and not to the experts, 
that Mr. Wells modestly dedicates his work. His object is to supply pre* 
cisely the kind of information of which he stood so much in need during 
his own novitiate. — N. Y. Journal of Commerce. 


Published by HARPER k BROTHERS, New York. 

The above work sent by mail, postage prepaid, to any part of the United States 
or Canada, on receipt of the price. 


BOOTS AND SADDLES; 

Or, Life in Dakota with General Custer. By Mrs. Eliz- 
abeth B. Custer. With Portrait of General Custer, 
pp. 312. 12mo, Cloth, $1 50. 

A book of adventure is interesting reading, especially when it is all true, 
as is the case with “ Boots and Saddles.” ^ * She does not obtrude the 

fact that sunshine and solace went with her to tent and fort, but it in- 
heres in her narrative none the less, and as a consequence “ these simple 
annals of our daily life,” as she calls them, are never dull nor uninterest- 
ing. — Evangelist^ N. Y. 

Mrs. Custer’s book is in reality a bright and sunny sketch of the life 
of her late husband, who fell at the battle of “ Little Big Horn.” * ^ ^ 
After the war, when General Custer was sent to the Indian frontier, his 
wife was of the party, and she is able to give the minute story of her 
husband’s varied career, since she was almost always near the scene of 
his adventures. — Brooklyn Union. 

We have no hesitation in saying that no better or more satisfactory life 
of General Custer could have been written. Indeed, we may as well 
speak the thought that is in us, and say plainly that we know of no bio- 
graphical work anywhere which we count better than this. * ^ * Surely the 
record of such experiences as these will be read with that keen interest 
which attaches only to strenuous human doings ; as surely we are right 
in saying that such a story of truth and heroism as that here told will 
take a deeper hold upon the popular mind and heart than any work of 
fiction can. For the rest, the narrative is as vivacious and as lightly and 
trippingly given as that of any novel. It is enriched in every chapter with 
illustrative anecdotes and incidents, and here and there a little life story 
of pathetic interest is told as an episode.— -iV. Y. Commercial Advertiser. 

It is a plain, straightforward story of the author’s life on the plains of 
Dakota. Every member of a Western garrison will want to read this 
book ; every person in the East who is interested in Western life will 
want to read it, too ; and every girl or boy who has a healthy appetite 
for adventure will be sure to get it. It is bound to have an army of read- 
ers that few authors can expect. — Philadelphia Press. 

These annals of daily life in the army are simple, yet interesting, and 
underneath all is discerned the love of a true woman ready for any sacri- 
fice. She touches on themes little canvassed by the civilian, and makes a 
volume equally redolent of a loving devotion to an honored husband, and 
attractive as a picture of necessary duty by the soldier. — Commonwealth^ 
Boston. 

Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, N. Y. 

Jl®* IIabpkr & Brothers will send the above wane by mail^ postage prepaid, to anv 
part of the United States or Canada, on receipt of the price* 


BEN-HtlR: A TALE OF THE CHRIST. 


Bv Lew. Wallace. New Edition, pp. 552. 16mo, 

Cloth, $1 50. 

Anything^ so startling, new, and distinctive as the leading feature of this 
romance does not often appear in works of fiction. . . . Some of Mr. Wal- 
lace’s writing is remarkable for its pathetic eloquence. The scenes de- 
scribed in the New Testament are rewritten with the power and skill of 
an accomplished master of style. — W. F. Times. 

Its real ba.sis is a description of the life of the Jews and Romans at the 
beginning of the Christian era, and this is both forcible and brilliant. . . . 
We are carried through a surprising variety of scenes; we witness a sea- 
fight, a chariot-race, the internal economy of a Roman galley, domestic in- 
teriors at Antioch, at Jerusalem, and among the tribes of the desert; pal- 
aces, prisons, the haunts of dissipated Roman youth, the houses of pious 
families of Israel. There is plenty of exciting incident; everything is 
animated, vivid, and glowing. — N. Y. Tribune. 

From the opening of the volume to the very close the reader’s interest 
will be kept at the highest pitch, and the novel will be pronounced by all 
one of the greatest novels of the day. — Boston Post. 

It is full of poetic beauty, as though born of an Eastern sage, and there 
is sufficient of Oriental customs, geography, nomenclature, etc., to greatly 
strengthen the semblance. — Boston Commonwealth. 

“Ben-Hur” is interesting, and its characterization is fine and strong. 
Meanwhile it evinces careful study of the period in which the scene is laid, 
and will help those who read it with reasonable attention to realize the 
nature and conditions of Hebrew life in Jerusalem and Roman life at 
Antioch at the time of our Saviour’s advent. — Examiner., N. Y. 

It is really Scripture history of Christ’s time clothed gracefully and 
delicately in the flowing and loose drapery of modern fiction. . . . Few late 
works of fiction excel it in genuine ability and interest. — N. Y. Graphic. 

One of the most remarkable and delightful books. It is as real and 
warm as life itself, and as attractive as the grandest and most heroic 
chapters of history. — Indianapolis Journal. 

The book is one of unquestionable power, and will be read with un- 
wonted interest by many readers who are weary of the conventional novel 
and romance. — Boston Journal. 


Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. 

The above work sent by mail, postage prepaid, to any part of the United States 
or Canada, on receipt of the price. 


UPON A CAST 


A Novel. By Charlotte Dunning, pp. 330. 16mo, 

Cloth, $1 00. 

It embodies throughout the expressions of genuine American frank- 
ness, is well conceived, well managed, and brought to a delightful 
and captivating close. — Albany Press. 

The author writes this story of American social life in an interest- 
ing manner . . . The style of the writing is excellent, and the dia- 
logue clever. — N. T. Times. 

This story is strong in plot, and its characters are drawn with a 
firm and skilful hand. They seem like real people, and their acts 
and words, their fortunes and misadventures, are made to engage the 
reader’s interest and sympathy. — Worcester Daily Spy. 

The character painting is very well done. . . . The sourest cynic 
that ever sneered at woman cannot but find the little story vastly 
entertaining. — Commercial Bulletin, Boston. 

The life of a semi-metropolitan village, with its own aristocracy, 
gossips, and various other qualities of people, is admirably por- 
trayed. . . . The book fascinates the reader from the first page to 
the last. — Boston Traveller. 

The plot has been constructed with no little skill, and the charac- 
ters — all of them interesting and worthy of acquaintance— are por- 
trayed with great distinctness. The book is written in an entertain- 
ing and vivacious style, and is destined to provide entertainment for 
a large number of readers. — Christian at Work, N. Y. 

One of the best — if not the very best— of the society novels of the 
season. — Detroit Free Ft^ess. 

Of peculiar interest as regards plot, and with much grace and 
freshness of style. — Brooklyn Times. 

The plot has been constructed with no little skill, and the characters 
— all of them interesting and worthy of acquaintance — are portrayed 
with great distinctness. — Episcopal Recorder, Philadelphia. 

A clever and entertaining novel. It is wholly social, and the 
theatre is a small one ; but the characters are varied and are drawn 
with a firm hand ; the play of human passion and longing is well- 
defined and brilliant ; and the movement is effective and satisfac- 
tory. . . . The love story is as good as the social study, making al to- 
other an uncommonly entertaining book for vacation reading. — 
Wilmington (Del.) Morning News, 


Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, Hew York. 

Harper & Brothers will send the above work by mail, postage prepaid^ to 
any part of the United States or Canada, on receipt of the price. 


AT THE RED GLOVE 


A Novel. Illustrated by C. S. Reinhart, pp. 246. 
12mo, Extra Cloth, $1 50. 


We have tried to express our admiration of the brilliant talents which 
the “ Red Glove ” displays — the accurate knowledge shown of localities ; 
the characteristics of the surrounding population, and the instinctive read- 
ing of the inner selves of the various personages who figure in the story. . . . 
A charming idyl. — W. Y. Mail and Express. 

The execution is admirable. . . . The characters are the clearest studies, 
and are typical of a certain phase of French life. . . . The story is fanciful, 
graceful, and piquant, and Reinhart’s illustrations add to its flavor. — Bos- 
ton Journal. 

The peculiar vivacity of the French style is blended with a subtle char- 
acter-analysis that is one of the best things in that line that has been pro- 
duced for a long time. It is one of the most brilliant pieces of literary 
work that has appeared for years, and the interest is sustained almost 
breathlessly. — Boston Evening Traveller. 

The authoress of “At the Red Glove” knows how to paint a flesh-and- 
blood woman, grateful to all the senses, and respectable for the qualities 
of her mind and heart. . . . All in all, “ At the Red Glove ” is one of the 
most delightful of novels since Miss Woolson wrote “For the Major.” — 
N. Y. Times. 

The novel is one of the best things of the summer as a delicious bit of 
entertainment, prepared with perfect art and presented without a sign of 
effort. — N. Y. Commercial Advertiser. 

It is an artistic and agreeable reproduction, in bright colors, of French 
sentiment and feeling. ... It is an abiding relief to read it, after such 
studies as novels in this country fashionably impose. — Boston Globe. 

A charming little story. . . . The characters are well drawn, with fresh- 
ness and with adequacy of treatment, and the style is crisp and ofttimes 
trenchant. — Boston Advertiser. 

A very pretty story, simply and exquisitely told. . . . The ups and downs 
of the courtship are drawn with a master’s hand. — Cincinnati Inquirer. 

There has been no such pleasant novel of Swiss social life as this. . . . 
The book is one that tourists and summer idlers will do well to add to 
their travelling libraries for the season. — Philadelphia Bulletin. 


Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. 

The above work sent by mail, postage prepaid, to any part of the United States 
or Canada, on receipt of the price* 


THE BREAD-WINNERS 

A Social Study. IGmo, Cloth, $1 00. 


One of the strongest and most striking stories of the last ten years. . . . 
The work of a very clever man ; it is told with many lively strokes of hu- 
mor ; it sparkles with epigram ; it is brilliant with wit. . . . The chief 
characters in it are actually alive ; they are really flesh and blood ; they 
are at once true and new ; and they are emphatically and aggressively 
American. The anonymous author has a firm grip on American character. 
He has seen, and he has succeeded in making us see, facts and phases of 
American life which no one has put into a book before. . . . Interesting, 
earnest, sincere ; fine in its performance, and finer still in its promise. — 
Saturday Review^ London. 

A worthy contribution to that American novel-literature which is at the 
present day, on the whole, ahead of our own. — Pall Mall Gazette^ London. 

Praise, and unstinted praise, should be given to “ The Bread-Winners.*’ 
— N. Y. Times. 

It is a novel with a plot, rounded and distinct, upon which every episode 
has a direct bearing. . . . The book is one to stand nobly the test of im- 
mediate re-reading. — Critic^ N. Y. 

It is a truly remarkable book. — N. Y. Journal of Commerce. 

As a vigorous, virile, well-told American story, it is long since we have 
had anything as good as “ The Bread-Winners.” — Philadelphia Bulletin. 

Every page of the book shows the practised hand of a writer to whom 
long use has made exact literary expression as easy and spontaneous as 
the conversation of some of those gifted talkers who are at once the 
delight and the envy of their associates. ... We might mention many 
scenes which seem to us particularly strong, but if we began such a 
catalogue we should not know where to stop. — N. Y. Tribune. 

Within comparatively few pages a story which, as a whole, deserves to 
be called vigorous, is tersely told. . . . The author’s ability to depict the 
mental and moral struggles of those who are poor, and who believe them- 
selves oppressed, is also evident in his management of the strike and in 
his delineation of the characters of Sam Sleeny, a carpenter’s journeyman, 
and Ananias Offit, the villain of the story. . . . The characters who bring 
into play and work out the author’s ideas are all well drawn, and their in- 
dividuality maintained and developed with a distinctness that shows inti- 
mate familiarity with the subject, as well as unquestionable ability m deal- 
ing with it. — N. Y. Evening Telegram. 


Published by HARPER h BROTHERS, New York. 

Harper & Brothers will send the above work by mail, postage prepaid, to any 
part of the UniUd States or Canada, on receipt of the price. 


“AS WE WENT MARCHING ON.” 


A Story of the War. By G. W. Hosmer, M.D. pp. 310. 
16mo, Cloth, $1 00. 

A skilful blending of plot with descriptions of active operations in the 
field. An attractive book. — W. Y. Sun. 

It seems to be all true excepting, perhaps, the names of the heroes and 
heroines. The author’s battle sketches are good, his characters natural, 
and his conversations neatly managed. — N. Y. Journal of Commerce. 

A vivid, somewhat exciting story, in which the experiences of army life 
are told in a way that makes them sound like the author’s own, and in 
which the narrative is conducted by Mars and Cupid alternately. — Phila- 
delphia Inquirer. 

This is really a fine story, in which marching and fighting and love are 
blended, yet one never interferes with the other. ... Of the picturesque- 
ness of camp life, the rude comfort of the bivouac, the hardships of the 
march, there is not in all the war history with which we are acquainted 
any such forceful description as in this little volume. — Rochester Hei'old. 

Interesting, both as a novel and as a description of the actual life of the 
soldier — the discomforts of rainy nights, muddy roads, and a hungry 
bivouac in a country filled with foes. . . . The various military incidents — 
the night marches, the annihilation of infantry surprised by calvary, the 
gathering roar and surging tide of a great battle — are given with the en- 
thralling energy peculiar to the eye-witness. — Comme^'cial Bulletin., Boston. 

A well-told soldier’s romance, commencing in the Blue Ridge wilderness 
of Virginia about the time of Pope’s disastrous campaign, and ending with 
Sheridan’s ride up the valley and converting defeat into victory at Fisher 
Hill. ... A war story superior to any with which we are acquainted. It is 
admirable as to plot and characters, as to the picturesque and effective 
background of military life, and as to its pure, graceful, and vigorous 
English. — Pittsburgh Post. 

Dr. Hosmer has written a spirited story that will interest old campaign- 
ers on both sides of the rebellion conflict. The clash and roar of battle 
are distinctly heard in some of his chapters. A good story for the home 
camp-fire. — Troy Press. 

This is a well-written and interesting story, in which domestic incidents 
and home affections blend with the roar of battle and the taking of pris- 
oners. The writer shows considerable knowledge of the actions and posi- 
tions on both sides in Virginia, where the scene is laid. — Brooklyn Eagle. 

A well-told, interesting story, with just enough of war, deceit, and love 
in it to be heartily enjoyable. — Hartford Post. 


Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. 

Harprk & Brothers \oill send the above work by maily postage prepaid, to any 
part of the United states or CanadUf on receipt of the price. 


J. S. WINTER’S NOVELS 


MIGNON ; OB, BOOTLBS’S BABY. Illiistrated. 16 mo. 

Paper, 25 cents. 

A charming little story of military life. — N". Y. Sun. 

A bright and taking little story, well worth reading. — The Critic, N. Y. 

It is full of bright pictures, and the text is bright and deliciously fun- 
ny. — Commercial Bulletin, Boston. 

It is finely told, with humor and pathos, and excels in quick character 
drawing and style. It moves the better feelings. — Boston Oldbe. 

It is a light story of garrison life, with enough of a mystery to make it 
interesting to the end, and with a touch of pathos which is excellently 
done. — Boston Courier. 

It is just the kind of book to help one to pass a summer afternoon 
pleasantly. The story treats of English regimental life, and relates the 
adventures of a stray baby, unceremoniously presented to one of the 
characters, in a striking and amusing manner. — Boston Commonwealth. 

This is a pretty little story of barrack life, having for its central figure 
a precocious little sprite, who dances about a manly soldier of the best 
sort. The story is well told. — Providence Telegram. 

HOUP-LA. Illustrated. 16nio, Paper, 25 cents. 

It is a pathetic story and abounds in incident. — N. Y. Sun. 

The tale has much of humor, much of pathos, and will occupy an hour 
very pleasantly. — T^'oy Telegram. 

A story of adventure, exciting situations, strange scenes, odd charac- 
ters, and of absorbing interest. — Albany Press. 

A pretty story, full of human interest. It is nicely told, and holds the 
reader from the beginning to the close. — Philadelphia North American. 

A touching story of a waif rescued from a cruel master by an English 
army ofldcer. — Philadelphia Inquirer. 

A very amusing and, in its close, pathetic story of humble constancy 
and heroism. — ZiojVs Herald, Boston. 

IN QUARTERS WITH THE 25TH (THE BLACK 
HORSE) DRAGOONS. 16mo, Paper, 25 cents. 

Its jollity and fun are exemplified by practical jokes and deliberate 
waggishness, and at the same time there are not wanting bits of pathos 
and genuine heroism. The narrative is unfiaggingly interesting and at 
times very dramatic. — N. Y. Commercial Advertiser. 

Briskly narrated in a dashing manner, and well fitted to engage an 
idle half-hour. — Boston Herald. 

Well worth reading. . . . Written in a lively and forcible style, and is one 
of the books which it is a pleasure to pick up when one wishes enter- 
taining reading matter for a short time. Besides, being more or less stories 
of adventure, and the same characters occurring in more than one of 
them, the interest continues until the book is finished. — Boston Times. 

A MAN OF HONOR. 16rao, Paper, 25 cents. 


Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. 

Harpkb & Brothers will send any of the above works by mail, postage 
paid, to any part of the United States or Canada, on receipt of the price. 


It surpasses aU its predecessors.— N. Y. Tkibune. 


STORMONTH’S ENGLISH DICTIONARY. ’ 

A Dictionary of the English Language, Pronouncing, Etymological, 
and Explanatory, Embracing Scientific and Other Terms, Numer- 
ous Familiar Terms, and a Copious Selection of Old English 
Words. By the Rev. James Stormonth. The Pronunciation 
Carefully Revised by the Rev. P. H. Phelp, M.A. pp. 1248. 
4to, Cloth, $6 00 ; Half Roan, $7 00 ; Sheep, $7 50. 

Also in Harper’s Franklin Square Library, in Twenty- 
three Parts. 4to, Paper, 25 cents each Part. Muslin covers for 
binding supplied by the publishers on receipt of 50 cents. 

As regards thoroughness of etymological research and breadth of modern inclusion, 
Stormonth’s new dictionary surpasses all its predecessors. * * * In fact, Stormonth’s 
Dictionary possesses merits so many and conspicuous that it can hardly fail to estab- 
lish itself as a standard and a favorite. — N. Y. Tribune. 

This may serve in great measure the purposes of an English cyclopsedia. It gives 
lucid and succinct definitions of the technical terms in science and art, in law and. 
medicine. We have the explanation of words and phrases that puzzle most people, 
showing wonderfully comprehensive and out of- the- way research. We need only add 
that the Dictionary appears in all its departments to have been brought down to meet 
the latest demands of the day, and that it is admirably printed. — Times, London. 

A most valuable addition to the library of the scholar and of the general reader. 
It can have for the present no possible rival. — Boston Post. 

It has the bones and sinews of the grand dictionary of the future. * * * An invalu- 
able library book. — Ecclesiastical Gazette, London. 

A work which is certainly without a rival, all things considered, among the dic- 
tionaries of our language. The peculiarity of the work is that it is equally well adapt- 
ed to the uses of the man of business, who demands compactness and ease of reference, 
and to those of the most exigent scholar. — N. Commercial Advertiser. 

As compared with our standard dictionaries, it is better in type, richer in its vocab- 
ulary, and happier in arrangement. Its system of grouping is admirable. * * * He 
who possesses this dictionary will enjoy and use it, and its bulk is not so great as to 
make use of it a terror. — Christian Advocate, N. Y. 

A well-planned and carefully executed work, which has decided merits of its own, 
and for which there is a place not filled by any of its rivals. — N. Y. Sun. 

A work of sterling value. It has received from all quarters the highest commenda- 
tion. — Lutheran Observer, Philadelphia, 

A trustworthy, truly scholarly dictionary of our English language. — ChHstian Intel- 
ligencer, N. Y. 

The issue of Stormonth’s great English dictionary is meeting with a hearty wel- 
come everywhere.— Boston Transcript. 

A critical and accurate dictionary, the embodiment of good seholarship and the 
result of modern researches. Compression and clearness are its external evidences, 
and it offers a favorable comparison with the best dictionaries in use, while it holds an 
unrivalled place in bringing forth the result of modern philological criticism. — Boston 
Jowmal. 

Full, complete, and accurate, including all the latest words, and giving all their 
derivatives and correlatives. The definitions are short, but plain, the method of mak- 
ing pronunciation very simple, and the arrangement such as to give the best results 
in the smallest space. — Philadelphia Inquirer. 


Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. ' 

Harper & Brothers will send the above work by mail., postage prepaid, to any 
part 0/ the United States or Canada, on receipt of theprice^ 


HARPER’S YOHE PEOPLE FOR 1886. 


The position of Harper’s Young People as the foremost weekly paper for young 
readers is now firmly established. 

The aim of its conductors is to make it a weekly miscellany of the best reading and 
illustrations for boys and girls from eight to sixteen years of age, and the publishers 
have spared neither pains nor expense to secure for it the very best literary and artis- 
tic work anywhere to be purchased. 

Every word and every cut that goes into its pages is subjected to the most rigid edi- 
torial scrutiny, not merely to see that nothing harmful shall by any chance creep in,- 
but equally to make sure that the paper shall be an effective agency for the mental, 
moral, and physical education and improvement of its readers. The serial and short 
stories found in its pages have all the dramatic interest that juvenile fiction can 
possess, while at the same time being wholly free from all that is pernicious, and are 
of such a high literary quality that their perusal tends directly and powerfully to the 
cultivation of a correct taste in Ijterature. The humorous stories, articles, and pictures 
are full of innocent fun, without a trace of that coarseness which mars much that is 
offered for the amusement of the young. The papers on natural history and other 
scientific subjects, travel, and the facts of life are the work of writers whose names 
give the best possible assurance of accuracy and value. The historical stories, bio- 
graphical tales, etc., present attractively the most inspiring and stirring incidents in 
history and in the lives of persons who have done something in the world. Papers 
on athletic sports, games, and pastimes give proper incentive to healthy exercise. In 
all the departments free use is made of illustrations in aid of the text, and fine pict- 
ures, the work of the foremost artists and engravers, lavishly illustrate its pages. 

The fact that Harper’s Young People appears at brief weekly intervals greatly in- 
creases the interest felt by its readers, especially in the serial stories, while the sixteen 
quarto pages, of which each number consists, afford ample space for the utmost variety 
of matter. 

That Harper’s Young People fulfils the requirements of young readers is sufficient- 
ly demonstrated by the large circulation it has already attained both in this coun- 
try and in Great Britain, and this circulation is a scarcely less emphatic testimonial to 
the fact that it has won the approval of parents also. That pastors and teachers and 
the universal censor, the press, are united on this point with parents and children is 
proved by the many and repeated endorsements it has received from those who 
have the education of children in charge, as well as by the unvarying praise and 
encouragement given it by the press throughout the country. 

A sample copy will be sent on receipt of a three-cent stamp. 


HARPER’S PERIODICALS. 


HARPER’S MAGAZINE Per Year S4 00 

HARPER’S WEEKLY . “ 400 

HARPER’S BAZAR “ 4 00 , 

HARPER’S YOUNG PEOPLE “ 2 00 

HARPER’S FRANKLIN SQUARE LIBRARY (52 

Numbers) “ 10 00 

HARPER’S HANDY SERIES (52 Numbers) . . . “ 15 00 


Subscriptions to any of the Periodicals will begin with the Number current at the 
time of receipt of order, except in cases where the subscriber otherwise directs. 
Remittances should he made by Post-Office Money Order or Draft, to avoid risk of 

loss. ' 

Address, HARPER & BROTHERS, Franklin Square, New York. 





















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